


time and the days

by sundowns



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Poems, Self-Growth, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, makki tries so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 52,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundowns/pseuds/sundowns
Summary: To Oikawa Tooru, forgetting some things can never be an option. Instead, he welcomes the current of reminiscence with an open heart and an empty paper. No matter the speed, no matter the tides that bring, along with the restlessness, he recalls these day by day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays!

Oikawa is at the precipice of 30 when he realizes how  _exhausting_  it is to be one of the teachers in demand in a prestigious university in Japan. Despite keeping his physique up on constant, the lack of enthusiasm he had when he was much younger is comparable. His zeal-induced energy is barely there anymore, fervor no longer of a 17-year old, and he’s ascending the stairs to his office with a vexed huff.

He walks over to his cubicle, which is far off the corner but closer to natural light—he had chosen it, so it’s definitely worth the distance. He grimaces, though, when he sees a bouquet of gladiolus rudely occupying his table.

A colleague, who inhabits beside him, chimes teasingly upon his arrival. “Flowers for Professor Oikawa Tooru.”

Oikawa flushes red as he examines the flowers fondly—the same smile to the same kind that’s always given to him—and feels his heart flutter when he spots a tiny card hanging by the bundle and reads it.

 

_Dinner at 6? –I.H._

A silly smile makes its way to his face and he plops down his revolving chair with a shake of his head.

 Sugawara elbows and throws him a mischievous smile. “Suitor? Again?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Yeah.”

“My, my, so smug!” Sugawara says, sounding genuinely impressed. “Everyone knows you have such a long line of suitors and you’ve all declined them really kindly, but despite  _you_  being taken, this one seems to be  _very_  persistent.”

“I’ve told him off to stop bringing me stuff but he’s just so stubborn. I’m quite amazed myself.” Oikawa sighs pensively. “Totally brings me back to my younger days.”

“You say it as if you’re old! I’m jealous!” Sugawara fans himself. “Very admirable. Kudos to him.”

“Why, doesn’t your husband bring you stuff anymore?” Oikawa teases.

“Well, I’ve told him off, though. Just that he listens and isn’t as stubborn.” They both snort simultaneously. “Unlike your guy.”

“What did he say when he came by?” Oikawa asks, curious. He’s expected him sneaking into their office in the midst of Oikawa’s shift like he won’t be caught by his co-workers.

His colleague shakes his head. “Nothing. But he was super smiley and even greeted everyone. Must be really excited on your date.”

“I haven’t even said  _yes_.” Oikawa protests, but there’s a treacherous blush crawling up his face. “How dare he be so forward about this, Suga-chan!”

“He always is because you always give in anyway.” Sugawara rolls his eyes at his dramatics and continues, “By the way, are you on vacant time?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa answers as he starts arranging his table, putting the bouquet on an unoccupied space. Now he needs another, larger vase for this one. “Why?”

“Oh, I was going to give this to you,” Sugawara says and he frowns when he hands him a black USB. “Found it when I was emptying up our previous office. I literally forget to give it to you every single day and just remembered when Daichi spotted it in the drawer. Figured out it was yours since I don’t own one.”

Oikawa tentatively takes the thing in his hand, the vague thought of Sugawara not owning a USB making him somewhat dubious.  _Who doesn't own a USB though?_  He barely even remembers if he ever owned a black one his whole life, but since his colleague says so, he accepts it anyway. ”Ah, did you look into it?”

“No,” Sugawara snorts. “It’s probably just a bunch of silly lesson plans anyway. You should take a look.”

Oikawa glances at him and then at the tiny black thing in his hand and shrugs. “It’s probably mine, let’s see…” he murmurs, trailing off as he turns to his PC and plugs it to the CPU.

He briefly makes a text on his phone just in time for a pop up to appear on the screen, courtesy of the un-renamed USB. He clicks file open and then sees just one, lone folder in the corner.

His heart jumps up and clogs at his throat when it hits him.

 

_For I.H._

 

It’s what the folder says and Oikawa feels his blood moving on a rush. He maneuvers the mouse with suddenly clammy hands, and the cursor shakily hovers under it as he takes a short consideration. A few slow seconds pass before he ultimately decides to open it.

He’s then greeted by numerous _.txt_ files as well as the hard rush of remembrance that he can’t placate.

“Ah” absently comes out from him.

“What is it?” Sugawara asks curiously. Oikawa instinctively goes for the minimize button before he can look over.

“Oh, just files,” he vaguely answers. “from college.”

“I see.” Sugawara smiles before he resumes back to his work. “Good thing they’re not completely lost, then. They could be helpful.”

Oikawa nods inattentively, still blankly staring at his monitor. “Yeah. Thank you. For bringing this to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

He goes back to popping the window full screen and clicks on the first file of the folder.  _Excerpt 01_ , it says.

 _How eloquent_ —it’s a simple riposte to say for a poet in shock. It makes him feel different things that prevent him from being expressive himself. When he starts to read the text, a slow, wistful smile makes its way; and with all the idiosyncrasies, Oikawa is brought back to being 17 all over again.

 

 

**

 

 

There haven’t been any warnings. The realization comes out sweet and unexpected and suddenly, the world is slow, the colors are more prominent, and air is a little bit lighter.

Oikawa comes out of his house at 7:30, exactly the same time and just the way he is used to—always the customary, always a habit, and he expects Iwaizumi to be waiting for him by the gate.

And he does stand there, greeting him with the usual quirk of the mouth and the usual wave of the hand and the usual:

“Morning.”

With the predictability of the routine, Oikawa abruptly stops and stares.

Something is quite off, something a little dubious, and the distinctness of it is questionable.

Because out of the blue, Oikawa is brought to a pause, the usual response not coming out, and he’s left to gape at Iwaizumi.  _Did he shave? Was it the fine weather? Was it a haircut?_  Everything concrete and abstract appears different to him—like this scale when you thought it was winter, and suddenly, spring came in the morning like an unexpected visitor.

There’s a new ache that forms inside. It’s only subtle, but definitely evident—a small spark in a fuse. It is a feeling he’s known over the years—through heart-to-heart talks, confessions, and all forms of mass media—but has always seemed to leave him thinking when his own would arrive. And with this new finding, Oikawa smiles and accepts it—no second thoughts, no taking of anything into thorough contemplation, no freaking out. It’s not like he had felt it before, but strangely enough, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s bizarrely normal—like a common flattered feeling he gets when he receives a birthday gift from Iwaizumi in Julys—but he guesses it’s only it because it involves _him_.

“Morning, Iwa-chan!” he answers, enthusiasm in his voice a little off but nonetheless a notch cheery. Iwaizumi skeptically looks at him.

“You’re awfully cheerful today. Did something happen?”

Oikawa shrugs and pockets both hands. “Nothing. Isn’t the weather great today?”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi mutters, a little chary. “Didn’t you watch this morning’s forecast? It’s literally going to rain, Oikawa, and you hate the rain.”

 _Oh_. He  _does_  hate the rain. He hates it with all his living strength because it ruins his clothes; he hates the mud, the lighting, and thunder. There’s just something about today that puts him to thinking about the times when he forgets to watch the daily forecast and his umbrella but Iwaizumi is always there to walk with him in the rain. Maybe he will now learn to love it, too.

“Iwa-chan, did you bring an umbrella?” he asks when they reach the bus station at the corner of the block and Iwaizumi curses.

“Shit.” He scratches his head. “I forgot.”

Oikawa laughs at him for it, because Iwaizumi would be the type to be aware of what lies ahead in the day but always forgets the equipments. He hopefully looks forward to 6:00 in the evening when they’ll spend the trip home basked under the sky’s drizzle or huddled under the warm sheets together in either’s room.

“The bus is here.” Iwaizumi mechanically says as he ushers Oikawa first to the door with the push of his back. His hand is gentler today, but maybe it’s because Oikawa has only paid better attention this time.

For the first time throughout the days of normalcy, routine, and all other habits, Oikawa feels his heart skip a few seconds.

 _Why all of a sudden?_ he asks and he realizes that Iwaizumi has always been there—all throughout his walking life and even when before he had learned how to walk. He was the same person who waited for him until he was born, until he got out of his crib to be able to play, when he was too slow in packing his backpack up in kindergarten until elementary, and until he got out of his house when they had started to go together to school since 7.

Iwaizumi was always,  _always_  there and still is. It’s a thought Oikawa had never gotten to think about, and the weight of his sudden awareness is overwhelming.

The bus moves, and they both startle forward. Iwaizumi catches his wrist.

“Careful, idiot.”

The rain had started but Oikawa makes a smile at him, takes the seat by the window this time in the weather, and carefully leans his head on the glass. The bus moves funnily once again and he winces when he bashes his head straight onto it, but Iwaizumi’s hand comes to his temple and all of a sudden, he’s resting on his shoulder.

“I swear if you barely slept last night and won’t sleep now, I’ll knock you out so you’ll sleep the entire day.”

“Iwa-chan, that’s a very sweet way of you caring for me!” Oikawa whispers and Iwaizumi blankly stares at him.

“Dumbass.”

Then on he figures out _maybe_ the way he feels had always been there. Maybe it only took him a time of realizing and recognition to name it all together.

There’s a gnawing feeling at his chest that he can discern. It’s unavoidable and he knows there are chances for what he expects—the good and the bad—but he can deal with all this later. Even if there hadn’t been a warning here, he will know next.

Those thoughts drift away when Iwaizumi softly pats his head.

 

  

**

 

 

When he begins realizing he’s seeing Iwaizumi in a different light, it’s when he slowly starts to notice the subtleness of things, too. He would know when he shaved, or put more effort (more like _haphazard casualness_ ) to his hair, or attempted the moisturizer Oikawa had gifted him on impulse during a sale at Muji. Iwaizumi barely pays attention to his looks, but Oikawa thinks everything about his best friend is natural nonetheless, and that’s probably what makes him so easy to sink into.

He tries to steal a quick glance when Iwaizumi lifts his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead; he had seen him shirtless (and naked) before anything else but he wills himself to _never ever_ dwell on that. Around the second time he does it, he catches Hanamaki looking at him looking at Iwaizumi, and sends him a scandalous look.

“If you want to ogle at him to indulgence, Captain, go take him home quick for some excuse homework session and do just that. This is practice, if you forgot.” Hanamaki smirks, making annoying, wiggly movements with his almost nonexistent eyebrows.

“That’s a lap for you, Makki!”

Hanamaki obeys and starts running around the gym while he cackles wildly like a hyena.

 

 

**

 

 

It was dry all along until the rain comes unexpectedly pouring nonstop three days later. Oikawa had failed to keep himself up to date with the weather forecast, and once again, forgets his umbrella.

It's strange not having Iwaizumi around. He had excused himself from classes beforehand that he would be out of town for family matters and Oikawa had been lethargic the entire day. Not even the comical duo that is Hanamaki and Matsukawa can breach into his perpetual weariness. It's Monday—meaning no practice at any costs, and with the rain to boot, he feels himself getting more and more into his funk and even considers staying over until midnight just until he finally gains enough energy to walk home.

It's 6:13 and most people have likely gone in to their homes for some cozy, warm drinks, but there Oikawa is: seated at the bus stop for who-knows-how-long.  _Maybe an hour has passed, maybe five buses had come by_. He doesn't know what he's waiting for.

"Oi, are you gonna wait until Christmas comes?"

His head instantaneously whips up upon the sound of a familiar, fond voice. It takes him a silly time to find it and when Oikawa sees him, he feels the energy he hadn't had the entire day fill him up.

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi lopsidedly smiles as he walks over and his umbrella hovers over Oikawa's head. “Let’s go home.”

It feels like a movie, somehow—when you’re amongst in the trend of those sentimental people. Iwaizumi stands before him, hand in his pocket and the other one with the umbrella stretched towards. He looks cool—like a prince to the rescue for someone in distress.

Oikawa stands up immediately, almost tripping on his feet, and it’s maybe from the numbness of sitting all hour or from the tenderness of his own knees.

“When did you get home?”

“Just recently. Asked your mom if you were home just in case, and I was right—the idiot is still here.” Iwaizumi throws a pointed glare at him and jabs his stomach. “Shittykawa! Why did you forget your umbrella again?” he screams when Oikawa’s stupidly smiling face does not twitch one bit.

“Iwa-chan, you always bring umbrella for the both of us! But you didn’t come to school.” Oikawa executes an overly done pout. “It was lonely without you.”

“Was it boring having no one to make fun of?” Iwaizumi, this time, elbows him harshly, and Oikawa doubles over. “I don’t want to see you in this situation again—ah, maybe I will again, but I’ll surely kill you next time.”

“So harsh!” Oikawa’s stomps are childish on the wet pavement, and with the dirty splatters on his shoe, Iwaizumi kicks him as the puddle splashes and then grabs him by the back of his collar. The umbrella is fairly small and they both have to squeeze together in order to protect themselves from the harsh shower. Iwaizumi’s shoulders are insanely wide, so it’s right he doesn’t complain that his side gets wet given with a gift like that. He can’t say much about Oikawa though—he’s basically the same, only that he’s much more like a totem pole.

The umbrella alone isn’t clearly made for two growing boys, so without a word, Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa by the shoulders.

Oikawa is relatively quiet for a full five seconds, just silently reliving the moments he took for granted when they were this close. Iwaizumi’s breath is warm in his ear, and his ear burns ablaze all the way down to his neck that puts the impossibility of a hot blush in a cold rain to shame.

 _Nothing hurts in trying_ , he remembers people saying. He says the same to himself as he tentatively hooks his arm around Iwaizumi’s waist. Iwaizumi continues to walk them without words—no complaints, no brushing off, no sign that he agrees with this either, so Oikawa leaves it that way.

“How would you do without me, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks him soon once they’re nearing their residential block. “I can’t always be there, y’know.”

That makes him ponder. Because _one_ , he’s never really thought about this; and _two_ , he might have tricked himself with the thought that they’ll be hip to hip forever. It makes him feel naïve how he never considered how they might be going separate ways at the end of high school, and that they both got places to be. It’s… overwhelming how he grasps the whole thought of it just now, even if it is common sense alone. Perhaps it might be similar to what his mom had told him about how their _off-springs eventually have to separate from the family the very moment they step into adulthood, and then make a family of their own._

_“You don’t have to have a family, but soon enough, you’ll learn to let go of what you once had. Like a baby from a pacifier. In order to grow brilliantly, turn that dependence to liberty and you won’t be afraid to walk alone.”_

The words sound muffled at the back of his head, like a voice underwater, and the memory makes a cold vibration down his spine.

“What are you joking about, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa muses nervously, forcing his voice into overly done enthusiasm, and playfully pushes Iwaizumi with his hand. “What do you mean you won’t always be there? You can’t leave me!”

But instead of a serious response that will send him a shattering mess, at this, Iwaizumi actually smiles and even ruffles his hair. Oikawa doesn’t expect it, but he thinks, maybe not everything has to end yet. _Maybe not this one_.

_It can’t be this one._

“Race you at my place!” Oikawa’s grin is bright in the weather as he runs from under the umbrella’s safety. He vaguely remembers being this forward about showering in the rain when it had always been Iwaizumi that kicked things off. He’s a couple of meters distant when he hears Iwaizumi yelling, voice gruffer than thunderstorm but strangely excitable. He attempts on running, too, but the wind’s velocity keeps him from doing so with his umbrella in hand, so he folds it before proceeding.

“I’ll kill you, asshole!” He gripes and Oikawa’s lungs hurt from running and laughing and somewhere else inside. “Wait ‘til I get my hands on you!”

It comes when the grey sky flashes white for a fast second. Oikawa stops and visibly shivers, ready to cower from his blissful reverie, until a hand grabs his own.

Iwaizumi is there in an instant, as fast as lighting, faster than downpour can allow, and squeezes his palm in a warning. Oikawa looks at him—they’re both a mess from the drizzle—and thinks, _It’s really real. This is really it._ He knows what it’s like to fall in love in the rain.

He doesn’t flinch when the thunder comes.

 

 

**

 

 

On day _three-thousand-and-something_ ever since, there Iwaizumi is again, standing by his front gate and greeting him with the usual quirk of the mouth and the usual wave of the hand and the usual:

“Morning.”

With how daunting the inevitable is, maybe things aren’t bound to change yet. They’ve both been doing this since the beginning of time and will do it again tomorrow, and the day _after_ tomorrow, and the day after _that_. And while the days progress, Oikawa feels his heart chambers swell with something akin to wholesomeness.

“You look happy today,” Iwaizumi remarks.

“Do I?” Oikawa chirps, hands in his pocket while he walks with a skip in his steps. He even manages to ignore the minute throbbing in his right knee. “Isn’t there any reason to? Being happy is a recommended habit, Iwa-chan, or I’ll get premature wrinkles like you.”

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi only says futilely. “Did you get a girlfriend?”

“What?!” Oikawa squeaks as he halts to face him, just a slight movement away from tripping on his face and landing face-ground. “Iwa-chan, I know I’m beautiful but I don’t solely rely my happiness on _girlfriends_!”

Iwaizumi looks at him blankly. “So, you didn’t get a girlfriend then.”

“’Course not!” Oikawa harrumphs defensively. “Iwa-chan is there, so I don’t need a girlfriend.”

“Hah?”

“I was just kidding!” he yelps. But of course he wasn’t kidding. “Iwa-chan is so sensitive.”

There’s a tiny smile playing on Iwaizumi’s lips. And as much as Oikawa ogles on such small thing, there is always a constant, pleasant ache he feels whenever he sees him waiting in the morning. He wants to tell the whole world about it, everything or _just anything,_ but there’s only little one can do when they are aware of the cons of being honest.

Oikawa is 17 when he starts to put his heart into paper.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt #1 }_

_All throughout, science had taught me my heart exists in the left side of my chest._

_I had always felt it whenever my palm comes up—beating in there in a steady_  thud, thud, thud.

_And as if I knew it was always going to be right there, I figured out you were constantly by my side_

_—always on reach: a mindful shadow, a devout pillar, a safe shoulder to lean on._

_But no one taught me that the heart does not dwell inside a person forever or for too long_

_Because as the morning came and I saw you wait for me, I had seen my own heart in your hands._

_And the only reason why I felt it beating was because you were always so close_

_—keeping it at close proximity so I would live, breathe, and feel the blood in my veins._

_Directions were not necessary and I did not need to tell you to be careful of it_

_Because you always seemed to know what to do._

_So, I decided the moment my heart left me for your warm hands,_

_I knew, even before everything happened, that I had to trust you with it._

_What could I be afraid of?_

_It was only you._

 

 

**

 

 

Iwaizumi turns 18 on a Sunday, and as Oikawa basks under the summer heat even under Iwaizumi’s porch, his hands grow cold and clammy from inside.

Iwaizumi’s mother greets him with the same fond smile his best friend possesses and ushers him to their living room. It’s been 9 years since Iwaizumi held a birthday party—still, from the view of the backyard from where he stands, it’s strange seeing the place not all partied up. Back then, Oikawa would come hours before to help Iwaizumi’s family decorate.

As he mumbles an excuse for his intrusion, Iwaizumi’s mother goes on about how his son has been locking himself up in his room and that he’s glad Oikawa came to haul him out of his cave. Oikawa deviates by telling her he will join him inside his cave anyway, so she gives up with a roll of her eyes.

“Come downstairs for dinner in an hour.”

“I’ll tell him, ‘kaa-san,” Oikawa grins and before he proceeds to invade Iwaizumi’s room, his mother calls him.

“Tooru.”

Whirling on his heels, Oikawa faces her with a curious blink. “Yes?”

“When he goes to university, we might not be there for his next birthday anymore, but you will, right?”

It’s kind of honoring that she trusts him enough to ask to accompany his son on a special occasion, but perhaps it’s because she knows he really will, after all. Oikawa reciprocates the same knowing smile on her face, and nods. “Of course.”

The door is cracked open and as Oikawa takes a peek, turns out, the old man is just playing video games on his PS.

 _He really is a caveman_ , Oikawa thinks dotingly before pushing the door wider.

“Who told you to breach my privacy?” Iwaizumi asks without looking up.

“Do you not want me here? You sure are one boring monkey that even monkeys themselves are more fun than you.”

Iwaizumi pauses game, and in the speed of light, hauls Oikawa to tackle him into the bed.

“What did you say, idiot?”

“Happy birthday!” Oikawa squeaks in the middle of a headlock. He screams so loud when Iwaizumi’s hard knuckles come in contact with his scalp, and Iwaizumi’s mother yells back for them to shut up.

“Sorry!” They shout in accord.

“I got you presents.”

“ _Presents?_ ” Iwaizumi repeats. _“_ Plural? More than one? _”_   He releases him as he questions. “Is this where all your money went after you don’t spend some for yourself and leech on mine instead?”

“It’s a smart investment, is it?” Oikawa chirps and wiggles a fairly huge bag in his hand. “It’s like you’re depositing money to me so I can buy you a surprise gift. It’s a fun idea!”

Iwaizumi ignores him and squints at the blindfold dangling on Oikawa’s finger. “Why the hell are you bringing a blindfold?”

“Is Iwa-chan dumb, after all? You don’t get to question why one brings a blindfold during a birthday!”

“I’ll choke you with it.”

“How kinky.”

Oikawa receives a slap on the head instead.

“Ow— okay! Okay. Just wear this blindfold for a sec and I’ll show you your present.”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi huffs and puts the fabric around his head. “Don’t take too long. I’ll still have to beat the master on this level.”

“It’s your birthday and you’re celebrating it with some fictional shit instead.”

“From what I remember, it’s my birthday today. _Mine_. I get to do what I want.”

“Iwa-chan, I spent _mine_ with you last year! Even though I wanted to practice, you nailed my ass fixed from going to the gym and I was obedient about it!”

“Fuck, stop screaming into my ear!” Iwaizumi rubs his earlobe and Oikawa takes the silly opportunity to blow into his ear. He gets a smack on the face instead. “I swear I’ll throw you off the window.”

“You won’t do that,” Oikawa says simply as he scoots closer to Iwaizumi in an Indian position. “Okay, stay still and I’ll be quick.”

“Mm, fine.”

Contrary to the situation, Oikawa’s hands are clammy as hell and he’s been trembling ever since he got to his house—perhaps it’s only subtle because Iwaizumi hasn’t noticed his edginess at all.

“If you move, I’ll kill you, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi makes a noise. “What’s with the threatening?”

“Nothing, I-” he gulps and rubs his right palm furiously against his lap. His hand comes up to Iwaizumi’s mouth and he startles at the contact. “Stay still.”

“Are you going to poison me—ah, I recognize this sm-“

“Shut up, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses, and without a second thought in the world, he leans in, slowly like the earth revolving, and places his lips quickly against the back of his hand.

It’s an indirect kiss—but it’s enough to fuel the heat on his face and the embarrassment in his stomach. He didn’t think he could do something as shameless as this, but the more significant concern here is Iwaizumi isn’t aware, so he guesses he’s safe as long as he keeps his mouth zipped.

“What the hell was that?”

Oikawa inwardly panics and he pulls right away. “I was giving you a preview of your gift!” he prattles, because it is half the truth, and shoves the birthday bag to Iwaizumi. “You can take your blindfold off now.”

Iwaizumi does, a bit impatient at that, and Oikawa can only hope he’s looking at least calm and composed by the moment. It has been always a true bliss watching Iwaizumi open presents for him, no matter how he insists he doesn’t want any material thing—Oikawa finds joy in basking into his unannounced happiness. The one he reaches for first is a perfume he’s been discreetly wanting whenever he goes to this local shop with Oikawa. Iwaizumi looks at him with mixed disbelief and knowing in his own way—a small quirk of the lips and a face that says _you know me very well_.

“Ah, I have always wanted this one. Thanks.”

“Iwa-chan, you can’t buy one for yourself?”

“That’s because I’ve spent all my money on you, brat.”

“So savage.”

“Alright, let’s see what we got here…”

The next one is a sky blue Polaroid camera. He knows Iwaizumi prefers dark colors, but the sky blue was so attractive Oikawa chose it by his own preference. He also knows Iwaizumi will cuff him for such dumb reason.

“Polaroid?” Iwaizumi tilts his head.

“The films were on sale for a super cheap price, so…”

“Okay, so, you bought me a Polaroid because these—“ Iwaizumi lifts up a bunch of film stacks. “—Hello Kitty films were on sale?”

Oikawa blinks. “Do you not like it?”

“Don’t be silly.” Iwaizumi snorts. “Just that- what a tacky color. Did you really choose this for me?”

Oikawa chuckles fretfully. “Kind of.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, smirking as he examines the camera in his hand. “Unbelievable.” There’s another ‘present’ left in the paper bag, and when he sees it, he bursts out into a laughing fit and facepalms himself. “Unbelievable.”

Oikawa can’t help but grin himself anyway. “Aren’t I cute in that?”

“You wish. C’mere.” Iwaizumi motions him over with arms spread wide, still wearing that semi-smiling, semi-laughing face, and Oikawa trembles as he wiggles closer to him. Iwaizumi embraces him, arm around his shoulders, palm on his head, and it feels like he’s the one having a birthday instead. “They are great as always. Thanks, Oikawa,” he says sincerely. “I don’t say this often but you better shut up about it or I’ll kick you.”

“Someone shouldn’t be this rude during his birthday.” They pull back, and Oikawa is starry-eyed when he says, “You’re welcome, grumpy Iwa-chan.”

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa is 18, a few tiptoes to high school graduation, when he’s getting used to the permanent throbbing in his knees and chest. Iwaizumi sits across, alone with him in the club’s locker room, just an hour later since their last tournament together.

Picking on his nails has become a known habit when he can’t look at Iwaizumi in the eye. With all the effort he puts on prepping his hands, the skins on his fingertips are mostly damaged by now but Iwaizumi doesn’t stop him.

“I was going to take us to nationals, you know, and maybe play together one last time,” he says, trying not to think about his spoiled expectation too much.

Iwaizumi has dropped the bomb a week ago, and as much as Oikawa had a huge hunch on it, no matter the foreshadowing, it still hurt knowing Iwaizumi is not going to play competitively anymore. He knows the hurt roots from once a naïve boy that only wished for two friends to stand on national stadium, but that naiveté had still remained years forward.

“You told me, the team, that it’s no one’s fault, so neither is it yours. I don’t want you to take the blame just because you’re the captain.” Oikawa would have cried somehow but Iwaizumi is smiling at him, so he keeps the burden buried deep at the moment. “Even though I won’t be with you anymore, I’ll be the same ace that will be cheering for you from now on.”

Oikawa convinces himself: it’s still a comforting thought in some way—Iwaizumi not in the same page anymore but still in the same story. As long as he is not in parallel with him, that would be enough to matter.

He reaches out a fist, a confirmation for one last time, and smirks. “Partners?”

Iwaizumi scoffs, like a world-famous joke has been uttered, and bumps his suspended fist with the impact that may likely bash a knuckle. “For life.”

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa is 18 when he accepts feelings just as they are—whether they be the fluttering of the stomach or the passing twinge of the chest—just like the youthful boy that he is.

Sometimes, he brings his quarter-filled journal to school, and at one time, Oikawa thinks, _how fitting_ , whips out a pen and the small notebook out while he sits on a free period on an English class. It’s convenient sitting at the farthest back when you’re head over heels with your best friend, because it’s a great view for admiring and you’re at a remote location from people’s inquisitiveness.

He makes the most out of the opportunity when Iwaizumi sits on the desk table right there, laughing at a joke his classmate just told, all free and boisterous like the boy that’s living up to his youth. Oikawa is swimming in words, and he guesses this is what immensity, _overwhelmness_ feel like, because you don’t get to form coherence right away. To Oikawa, Iwaizumi is never one with the looks with the _shock factor_ , but he’s charming in his own approach, when he’s 100% himself or when he thinks no one is looking.

Perhaps what artists say are right. Some works of art aren’t always appealing at first glance, but when you take in the smallest of details, a stir starts right there and you get drawn closer the more you look.

The pen glides as easy as the smile on his face, and when Oikawa looks up to observe him once again, he’s met by Iwaizumi’s own gaze. Oikawa is briefly left to wonder what triggers him to be smiling easily like this (but it’s only brief) becuse it’s simply given, because he knows what the trigger is.

Iwaizumi only pauses to look at him, ignoring his peers and being ignored by his peers, almost devoid of any expression. Oikawa remains beaming at him until it soon wears off into a diffident one as seconds tic by. It’s when Iwaizumi smiles back, just a slight pull on the corners of his mouth, but the look on his eyes give away something that he wants to think about all night.

Oikawa softly chuckles and finishes his short entry for the day.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt #4 }_

_E_ _yes weak, bleary;_

_as i see sunset flow through silk_

_in this space with dust that scintillate,_

_I watch it kiss your skin_

 

 

**

 

 

The gnawing feeling in his chest comes again and this time, he can discern. He knows it’s unavoidable and he knows there are chances for what he expects—the good and the bad—and he ought to deal it right now. Even if there hadn’t been a warning before, he had learned to know the inevitable.

Just by the premises, Iwaizumi stands there with a girl and a plain, sky blue folded paper (color similar to that Polaroid he gave him) limps in between his fingers. Oikawa blinks thrice, and then he recognizes her from their Chemistry class.

“Isn’t that the class president in 3-4?” Hanamaki pipes up.

Matsukawa snickers from behind, “Nice, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi is a flustering mess before them and it’s quite a view. It’s given that he isn’t used to these kind of instances unlike Oikawa, but he pretty much handles it well like the understanding person that he is.

Paper of the day, Oikawa scrunches a piece of his journal in his pocket. He doesn’t know what wills him to say “It’s about time someone likes that brute” but that’s always been in his nature, always instantly reasonable in dodging critical situations. He can feel Hanamaki’s eyes on him.

Iwaizumi and the girl laugh at something either said, and Oikawa’s mouth can only quirk up as an impulse reaction with his muddled mind. He doesn’t know what breaks his heart the most—the thought that someone might be replacing him as Iwaizumi’s walk-buddy, or the notion that the only thing that’s making him the best is stripped from him, or the fact that with all the pieces he’s dedicated, he can’t will to give him one.

Iwaizumi shamefully returns the letter, a polite bow to boot, and the receiver accepts it with a timid laugh, like she doesn’t mind the rejection. Oikawa wishes that he can be like her—where he can take such things lightly, as well. They part in good terms like friends parting from a casual talk, and Iwaizumi collapses on the hard ground with a heavy sigh.

Hanamaki slaps Oikawa hard on the back as he and Matsukawa start marching away. “Good luck, Captain,” he remarks. Oikawa almost feels embarrassed.

“That was quite a show, wasn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you deal with this every day,” Iwaizumi huffs, pulling his bag tighter around him. “Don’t you feel bad at all? Imagine how many hearts you’ve broken.”

“It’s all in the talk, Iwa-chan. I’m very good with words.” The irony tastes bitter in his tongue. “I’m surprised she didn’t slap you.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “She was nice.”

“I heard,” Oikawa responds, re-crumpling the paper in his pocket. “I would have thought you were together now.”

Iwaizumi looks at him funnily. “What’s making you say that?”

“Because,” he reasons, firming his lips right after for dramatics, and when Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow at him, he chuckles, eyes forward. “Iwa-chan deserves the best.”

“Ah, what kind of bullshit are you saying?” Iwaizumi wheezes, snickering as he lands a blow on his arm. The sudden contact makes him jolt. “Say that when you’re not rejecting people on a daily basis, asshole.”

“I don’t need anyone!” he defends and playfully hooks his arms around Iwaizumi’s. “Iwa-chan is my only best.”

“I’ll kill you,” Iwaizumi growls and Oikawa cackles at the sight of his red ear tips.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt #5 }_

_The sky, the sidewalks, the weeds you step on_

_Me_

_In presence, in absence_

_You are the best for anything before you_

**

 

 

 

Oikawa can’t say going to the same college as Iwaizumi has turned out to be a natural course for them. He had somehow known they’ll be on different paths, given with different career choices, but somehow, fate plays in its own silly means and it turns out that it’s meant to be an eventual phenomenon that they come to find each other’s ways again.

He did thought it would have all ended there—when they were both doing nothing together and Iwaizumi’s acceptance letter to Tohoku University’s medical department came in. He was ready to work his heart out from the heaviness, maybe do an overused, improvised emotional outlet by the means of pen and paper, until Iwaizumi came barging in several days later with another acceptance letter from Chuo, where Oikawa had planned on building his own future.

“Psychology,” Iwaizumi states, wiggling the letter in between his hand, and the moment he says it, Oikawa doesn’t think too hard to mentally remark that the major suits him. “It’s final.”

“Iwa-chan, Tohoku—“

“Medicine was an impulse decision, anyway. This, too,” he says, a little out of breath. “But I feel it. Like I belong more in this field.”

“What the hell, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa blurts out of relief, he’s still appalled but it’s clear by the look on his face, and he goes to hug Iwaizumi out of whim.

“Did you think I was gonna get rid of your ass?” Iwaizumi snarls as he reciprocates the gesture and rubs on Oikawa’s scalp like he’s a pet. “You’ll die without me.”

“If I wasn’t sleep deprived, I would have punched you right now,” Oikawa says, and the moment he does, he regrets it immediately when Iwaizumi throws him over his shoulder. “Wha—Iwa-chan!”

“Shittykawa, I’ll bash your head until you sleep!”

“I was just kidding!” he screams and then someone from the room opposite to his starts banging on the door. “You woke me up!”

“ _Tooru, shut up!_ ”

“Don’t be too rowdy, boys,” Oikawa’s mother smiles from the kitchen. “Your sister is on her period.”

“It’s 12 noon, Oikawa. Who sleeps until 12 noon?” Iwaizumi hisses as he marches into Oikawa’s room, almost likely his own as well, and Oikawa still limps on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He throws him on the bed and immediately laments when Oikawa yelps.

“Ow—shit—Iwa-chan!”

“Sorry!” Iwaizumi shouts, quickly approaching Oikawa curling into a fetal position and cradling his head. “Where, where?” He asks, a little frantic, but then only laughs when Oikawa makes a moaned response.

“I’m gonna have a concussion and it’s going to be your fault.”

“You’re a baby, and babies don’t even whine like you do.”

“You’e horrible!” Oikawa gasps. “What if you threw a real baby though? You will murder your own off-spring!”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Like I am going to wrestle a child.  _A child,_  stupid.”

“You can’t have babies, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reasons. “You’re banned from parenthood. Fuck—I’m gonna have a headache,” he wheezes, framing his head.

Well, it does look like he is on the verge of crying. Now Iwaizumi feels bad.

“Fine, sorry,” he says guiltily as he lies opposite to Oikawa and winces when he reaches to feel the forming bump on the back of his head. “I know it, okay? I’m a horrible person. I’m banning myself from parenthood.”

“Iwa-chan, are you self-loathing?” Oikawa giggles.

Iwaizumi frowns and gets up to avoid eye contact. “I’ll get you some ice.”

“Get me milkbread while you’re at it!”

“Here’s your special fuckin’ order, Your Highness.” Iwaizumi comes back five minutes later and tosses the packed pastry to Oikawa. “Your mom is upset, though. She’s making lunch so you can’t get full yet.”

“I’m a grown man with high metabolism.” Oikawa’s voice is muffled from the bread fully stuffed in his mouth, and Iwaizumi stares at him like he’s grossed out. “I can eat 3 sets of meals in one meal.”

“You’re gonna get diabetes if you don’t control your sugar intake.”

“Iwa-chan will be my personal nurse to inject insulin on me,” he says simply and continues to munch on. “It’s all good.”

“I’ll kill you before you can die because of it,” Iwaizumi grumbles as he lifts the dripping bag of ice in his hand. “C’mere.”

“Scary.” Oikawa scoots closer until he is knee to knee with him and his forehead snuggled up on the crook Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder. Iwaizumi loops his arm around him so the icepack rests conveniently on his bump and Oikawa’s heart does a few breath-stopping somersaults. It’s one of these moments where he decides it’s one of the most intimate they have been. If he hadn’t budged a single muscle before, it’s different now, and he’s gnawing on his cheek like he’s ripping it apart.

He feels the coldness move around his wound; Oikawa hears Iwaizumi sigh.

“You know why I’m going to Chuo instead?”

He might have let loose the smallest of sighs when he hears it, because it’s the question that has been going on through his head and subconscious ever since Iwaizumi dropped the bomb when he barged in unannounced. Oikawa’s silence is a response itself.

“Because I want to see you reach your dreams and become successful,” Iwaizumi answers, like it’s an easy decision on what dinner will be—simple and straightforward. Very heartwarming. “I know you can become the best, but I want to witness it myself. I want to be there watching you.”

Oikawa wants to tell him everything—the poems, on what happened on that dire-weathered morning, under the rain with him, or on who he thinks about every night. But he also thinks about a half-empty journal, begging to be written until the last page, and saves his words for later when he comes home.

It feels rather unfair that he doesn’t utter a word for this short-lived intimacy, but he’s always been aware that actions speak louder than words, and so, he decides, braves himself to press a fleeting kiss to Iwaizumi’s cheek.

The door crashes open before he can pull away and see a reaction.

“Tooru, can you—oh, my bad. Sorry!” And then it slams shut.

“Oh my god,” Oikawa wheezes and smacks both hands into his face before completely collapsing on the bed.

“I reckon she was going to let you buy her some pads,” Iwaizumi chuckles. Oikawa is surprised of his quick indifference, but then he wonders,  _what’s there to make a big deal of?_

“Let her husband buy him some pads,” he mutters, stuffing a pillow to his face.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt # 18 }_

_I have always thought_   _that I was a great aspirer,_

_Too ambitious,_

_An avid dreamer_   _that could float around_   _in a second_

 _But_   _it has always been_   _the earthy color of your eyes_   _that kept me grounded,_

_Reminding me_

_That there is something,_

_Someone_   _on earth,_

_Someone worth staying for._

 

 

**

 

 

They move in two weeks before their first semester in university starts—a small unit with two bedrooms for young adults, all painted in bland white. While moving the boxes in, Oikawa remembers looking through colorful pages of magazines about adding colors for accentuation and mentions it to Iwaizumi.

“Orange and vermillion would be nice,” Iwaizumi suggests.

“What a tacky taste.”

“What? It reminds me of fall season,” he defends. “I like it.”

“What about turquoise, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa proposes. “Like our gym clothes but just a tad bit darker.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, eyes squinted a bit as if to visualize and contemplate on the image. “Not bad,” he nods, rubbing on his chin like an old man, and Oikawa chuckles. “I think that goes well with white and orange.”

“You’re a hidden artist, after all.”

“I’m very good at color scheming.”

“Okay, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa dismisses sarcastically. “Whatever you say, old man.”

“You don’t believe me? You shouldn’t have asked for my opinion!”

Oikawa hums. “I know I would still have even if I won’t agree.”

Iwaizumi snorts at the logic. “Unbelievable. You’re full of shit.”

Their schedules don’t clash so they barely have any difficulties keeping the house in shape. Oikawa’s schedule mostly fills up in the morning, and while Iwaizumi takes up most of his afternoon on campus, he makes quick breakfasts for Oikawa before he takes off. It’s basically a give-and-take situation—Iwaizumi comes home from school to Oikawa’s half-assed meals, but they’re at least edible enough to last an all-nighter. More often than not, he orders takeout for them before disaster ensues.

“The auntie downstairs makes a mean  _agedashi tofu_ ,” Iwaizumi declares, setting a plastic bag filled with boxed takeout on the table. “I think I found us a go-to bistro.”

“How impolite! I made dinner and you bought takeout?”

Iwaizumi starts distributing the boxes without looking up. “What did you make?”

“Stir fry.”

“Let me.”

“Never mind. I’m throwing this away,” Oikawa harrumphs but Iwaizumi takes the chopsticks from his hand.

“You’re so dramatic,” he scoffs and stuffs a  _just right_  amount to his mouth to chew the flavor over. “Oh, you actually got better.”

“ _Really?_ ” Oikawa pipes up, the compliment almost getting to him until Iwaizumi squints his eyes with a mischievous smile slinking on his face.

“Ah. I get it now,” he calls out. “Did you use MSG?”

Oikawa avoids his gaze and when he gives him a knowing look, he defensively yells. “I told you I was gonna throw it away!”

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa never deemed Iwaizumi as a literature enthusiast, and he still never does even as he sees him in the library, three times a week, reading the same book over and over again. He never touches any other, even as Oikawa suggests him pieces by the likes of Haruki Murakami and Yukio Mishima, always coming back to the same passages. Oikawa often catches him on his free time, by the farthest left corner with the same book in his hands, head buried into the pages—old, tattered at the edges, smell worth decades.

“You’re so boring. You’ve read that about eight times now.”

“Three times,” Iwaizumi corrects. “Come to think of it,” he considers, flipping on a page before looking up. “You always come back to the things you love but never get tired of it. You love milkbread, do you?”

“Yes,” Oikawa impulsively says in a daze and may have lingered a little on the remark when he feels a sudden jig in his chest.

“It’s actually a collection of poems,” Iwaizumi flips the book to show the old cover page to him.

****

**_Spring & Asura_**  _by Miyazawa Kenji_

 

“Do you know Kenji Miyazawa?” he proceeds to ask. “I’m sure you do.”

“Oh, of course! He’s one from the History books,” Oikawa chimes and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “He’s a poet.” And when it hits him, a small smile creeps on Oikawa’s lips. “Ah. I never knew you’d be a poem freak, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes the second time. “I’m not a poem freak. I just like his works, is all.”

Oikawa mulls over his response, just to test the waters, and asks, “If I recommend you a work from another poet, would you read it?”

“If it’s good enough,” Iwaizumi answers, shrugging, but then Oikawa flusters completely and huffs.

“How would you know it’s good when you haven’t read it?”

“You’re right.” Iwaizumi frowns.  _What an idiot_ , Oikawa thinks. “Then maybe you should give me a copy.”

 _As if_ , Oikawa jeers.

Sometimes, when morning training doesn’t exhaust him to sleep and there’s nothing much to do, Oikawa visits the library in his afternoon time to borrow  _Spring & Asura_ and reads it in the same corner Iwaizumi usually sits. And through a short course of time, he finally understands him, how something like this can require so much patience, when he doesn’t realize he’s been right there until he’s reminded of the dimming sky. It makes him do a whole lot of head-scratching, but eventually, he gets there—to the  _knowing smile_  part, and checks the book out to accompany him overnight.

 

 

**

 

 

“Do you believe in parallel words, Iwa-chan?”

“What made you ask that?”

They do laundry the traditional way (handwashing) when their washing machine broke the night before. The laundry room’s space is too scarce for two growing boys, but for Iwaizumi and Oikawa, making use of settings in various sizes is zero concern—meaning, accidental flinging of things with every movement is no problem.

“I was just realizing...” Oikawa drones as he mindlessly chucks bubbles to Iwaizumi’s direction. “The things that you were not successful in pursuing, doing, or experiencing… thinking that they happened to you in some other world, it’s kind of consoling to know, isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi contemplates on this before he’s flinging water to Oikawa’s face. The latter shrieks but he only smirks in satisfaction. “That's yet again some weird ass topic to discuss off of your fantasy galore. But it kind of makes sense.”

“It’s ‘cause I’ve wished for something... and things I’ve always been longing for,” Oikawa proceeds while he rubs his face with his sleeves. He says it funnily but it’s just to turn his sincerity a little milder. “And it's sort of nice how the parallel-world me gets to have it. I’m kind of envious but at least I know I’m happy there.”

“Well, you are  _here_ , so, are you saying you’re not happy?” Iwaizumi cocks his eyebrow.

“I  _am_  happy,” Oikawa corrects, defensive. “Just- maybe things are meant to be okay for me this way, in this world, so that’s better than nothing at all, right?”

Iwaizumi hums, nodding. “That makes sense again. What have you wished for, then?”

“Love.”

He sneers. “You really are a sappy idiot, aren’t you?”

“Eh, Iwa-chan, how would you be feeling if I wasn't with you in another world?” Oikawa asks, ever curious, and feels a rather faint sting on his fingers.

“Good riddance, then.”

“How is that good riddance when you haven't even founded me and then thrown me away yet? Stupid Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi sniggers, shoving his hand into the pocket of the pants he’s washing and fishing out a few coins. Oikawa looks into the diminishing sunset through the room’s high window, thinking what dinner is suitable for tonight, and waits for him.

“I still would have founded you, either way,” he finally responds, balancing his collected coins by the tiled sink. “It just seems like you will always be there.”

Oikawa gazes at him stunned but rather solemn and pondering in some ways. Iwaizumi Hajime and his spontaneous, unexpected words, indeed. He has a nice side profile, too.

“You’re like this annoying tic at the back of my head,” he continues, face creasing. “Like, even if I hadn’t met you yet, I would still feel your shitty presence somewhere."

“Rude but thanks. I’d give you a 9.5.”

Iwaizumi laughs at him before he pauses. “Oh, your hand’s bleeding.”

“Oh.” Oikawa blinks down at his hands and tries flexing his fingers. Crimson drips from the fresh spotting on his skin whenever he contracts them. “Well, it’s been a while since I handwashed though.”

“It’s because you have female hands that your skin’s gashed.”

He gasps. “That’s so sexist of you.”

“Oh my god, I was just kidding, you know?”

 

 

**

 

 

On Iwaizumi’s next birthday, postponed to a Saturday, he once agrees to have a mini party-slash-late housewarming at their shared apartment. Oikawa is the most ecstatic about it than the celebrator is, doing mostly everything from decorations to food and to house rearrangement while Iwaizumi busies himself by telling him not to exaggerate too much. Oikawa asks for a list of his visitors and he suggests his Seijou teammates. Oikawa makes sure everyone in the gang says yes before he favors (or rather, makes errands for) Hanamaki and Matsukawa to help them with the mini party. It sure meant them having to go on a train ride from Miyagi to Tokyo— _but it’s all worth the compromise_ , because Oikawa had prepared lots of food and goodies for everyone (courtesy of Iwaizumi’s credit card). And well, after stubbornly convincing them on the phone three days ago, everything’s put and tidied up, all ready for a nightlong festivity, and the four of them are waiting for their fellow  _kouhai_ s to arrive.

This year, Oikawa makes sure his presents are well-thought. This year, he gives Iwaizumi copies of Miyazawa Kenji’s  _Spring & Asura_, from first to third collection, and a massive frame with one of his poems entitled  _Strong in the Rain_. The books were almost impossible to purchase because they were hard to find, a bit pricey as well, but Oikawa doesn’t tell him that. Iwaizumi says he didn’t have to, but he has a big grin on his face that makes a broke university student be appreciative of an empty wallet for once.

“Sorry. We’ve been wasting all the films and forgotten you haven’t took photos of yourselves yet,” Yahaba confesses as he approaches them by the kitchen island, looking guilty but not really sounding like. He briefly lifts the camera up, the sky blue Polaroid Iwaizumi owns, and makes indistinct gestures of his hands. “Can you guys like compress?”

“Oh, are you finally volunteering to take a picture for your  _senpai_ s?” Oikawa teases, adjusting the tilting party hat on his head.

“Because it’s Iwaizumi-sans birthday, we’ll have to make exceptions. Iwaizumi-san, do you want to?”

“No,” Iwaizumi deadpans.

“Iwa-chan, don’t act like a petty 5-year old birthday boy because you haven’t gotten your favorite present,” Oikawa taunts, chucking the discarded party hat back to Iwaizumi’s head and exaggeratedly snapping the band under his chin. Iwaizumi kicks the leg of his chair. Yahaba sighs, so they both concede before the offer gets forfeited.

“Hold on,” Oikawa interrupts when Yahaba is ready to click, then links his arms with Iwaizumi’s and comfortably leans his head to his shoulder. From his peripheral vision, Oikawa can notice Hanamaki ogling at them and tries not to mind his friend’s shit-eating grin.

A click of the shutter and the flash comes like lighting. Oikawa doesn’t shudder at the familiarity when he senses Iwaizumi’s even more familiar smile beside him.

“Oh, cute,” Yahaba comments after they wait for the photo to develop. Oikawa is impatient because he snatches it right away, and laughs both in embarrassment and delight when he sees the result.

“Ah, that’s—it came out pretty well. Iwa-chan is smiling!”

“It’s because you look stupid,” he mutters.

“Excuses, excuses! Do you want it?” Oikawa asks, showing him the film properly and waiting. He tries not to think how Iwaizumi lags on his answer, so he claims it instead before it gets a little embarrassing. “Okay, then, I get to keep this!”

Iwaizumi merely snorts although he’s curiously watching Oikawa slip the film into his wallet as his wallpaper.

 

They’re at the balcony alone, finding a quick moment to be away from the ruckus of the living room, when Iwaizumi asks him why he chose  _Strong in the Rain_  out of Miyazawa Kenji’s several pieces. Oikawa’s anticipated it, so, with a huff of a timid laugh, he simply says, “It reminds me of you.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” Iwaizumi replies, surprised. “So, ah, to think that I am reminded by it really means a lot to me. Thank you, Oikawa.”

Oikawa nods, not sure why he feels embarrassed himself, and asks, “What’s in that book that you love so much about, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi seems to have put a lot of thought into the curiosity alone, and it’s one of the rarest moments where Oikawa rethinks about  _Iwa-chan’s endless conciseness_  towards things. Questions like  _why do I love it_ ,  _why was I drawn to it_  he supposes must circle around Iwaizumi’s head and he realizes he’s just the same.

“Miyazawa Kenji’s works… make me think a lot,” Iwaizumi says slowly, a little vague, face twisted, but he continues, “Every word makes me patient. It takes me a patient amount of time to grab what I need to understand, and when I do,” at this, he smiles like it’s the blue moon and Oikawa looks at him like he made the night sky what they appear to be. “I just smile knowingly.”

Perhaps it’s the same case for Oikawa. Every realization to every emotion requires patient understanding—

_why does someone feel this way;_

_why does someone love a certain someone;_

_why was he drawn to them_

—be it coming in a day, a week, or your whole life, when it boils down to  _this_  one prime feeling, you just smile knowingly and say—

“Ah. So, it  _is_  love.”

Iwaizumi makes a lopsided smile. “Such a versatile thing, isn’t it?”

Oikawa nods.

Because it comes in different shapes and oddities— _a season, an emotion, a book, a person_ —and he wonders what that would make him if he’s loved those all at once.

“ _How is it versatile_ , I would ask, but then its versatility makes it versatile.”

Iwaizumi laughs, free in the night, and Oikawa joins him, uncaring about the time and the commotion around them. When Iwaizumi quietly slips a question in between breathing, Oikawa stops and stares.

“Have you loved, Oikawa?”

It settles heavy in his own head and even heavier in his stomach. Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him anymore when he questions it, but even if he does, Oikawa seizes the chance to be honest for this matter.

“I have.”  _And I still._  Iwaizumi hums, and Oikawa observes the bobbing of his throat before he asks him, “And Iwa-chan?”

“With how we depict  _love_  as versatile, well, I sure have,” Iwaizumi says, easy from his own mouth when he looks back at him, and Oikawa’s face heats up against the night’s breeze.

“So, we’re both in love then.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi shakes his head as he smiles. “We are.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt # 24 }_

_To love or to be loved_

_If that subject involves you,_

_Then I don’t care whether I choose which one is more meaningful_

 

 

**

 

 

Throughout their bond, changes are subtle but noticeable by the means of Oikawa Tooru. He often gets comments about how he is too fixated to details and perhaps a little too analytical on particular stuff. But with how immense his logic is, only a few know that some of the things that overpower such approach are his tact and empathy towards his surroundings. What's more is that his own radar seems a lot more sensitive with Iwaizumi around, and it’s most likely why he makes a big deal out of everything that will turn his waking mind into a clutter.

“Iwa-chan, are you gonna be watching the new Resident Evil movie?”

Oikawa asks him on the upshot of preliminary term, feet dangling off Iwaizumi’s bed while he watches its owner cram a 3-page Philosophy essay. Despite the hustle and bustle of university life, he asks anyway, because it’s one thing he can never miss.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Iwaizumi replies, a mutter that’s almost unheard, and Oikawa sits up to look at him.

“Ah. Did you see spoilers? Are the reviews bad?”

“Not sure,” Iwaizumi shrugs. “I just feel like it's not going to be good.”

Well, that’s a pity then, because he has one of the tickets ready and waiting to be given out. It feels strange somehow, because they never miss a premiere movie of the film series ever since they watched the fourth installment together on cinema after binge-watching the first three. Oikawa can’t help the slight sinking of his stomach, but he manages on trying not to show his disappointment.

“Ah, I heard so,” he remarks, throwing his body back to the bed. “It’s gonna be very disappointing if it is.”

“Just wait for the pirated one instead of spending money on tickets,” Iwaizumi comments, a little unfocused on the conversation, eyes glued to the screen, and fingers flying away on the keyboard. “Don’t tell anyone I said that though.”

“That is the first time I’ve heard of Iwa-chan being a rebel.”

Iwaizumi sips from his juice box. “Thanks for influencing me.”

 

Taking Iwaizumi’s term papers into thought, Oikawa ends up giving the extra ticket out to an interested classmate from History class and makes use of the other one himself.

As expected, the Tokyo crowd is thicker today but Oikawa pushes through by himself and finally finds the end of the queue. If Iwaizumi had been with him today, he would have surely burst from impatience.

Oikawa doesn’t think much about how he’s alone, because the movie sure is excellent and he can’t wait to babble how great it is to Iwaizumi and force him into watching it with him again. He exits the cinema, empty popcorn tub and water bottle in hand, when he doesn’t expect who he sees on the opposite door to his.

Iwaizumi is just surprised as he is, and while he looks caught off-guard, it makes Oikawa laugh on the inside. He’s with his friends, or with classmates, as what it looks like—Oikawa spots a girl beside him, short black hair and laid back clothes, looking between him and Iwaizumi like she’s in a tennis match.

“Oh,” Oikawa blinks. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

His tone perhaps sounded unpleasant in some sort of way because Iwaizumi visibly winces. It makes Oikawa smirk and he straps his bag tighter to himself and waits for an answer.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi huffs out a chuckle, a little strained on the edges. Given that, Oikawa doesn’t need any more explanation.

“Are you coming home for dinner, then?”

The girl looks at Iwaizumi, a little uneasy and looking ready to leave, but another guy catches up to them—tall and gangly and looking a little out of breath. His movements are a bit clumsy; Oikawa reminds him of Fukurodani’s Bokuto Kotarou impression-wise.

“Iwaizumi! Are you coming? It’s my treat!”

Oikawa simpers, rolling his tongue on the inside of his cheek, as he makes a friendly-looking wave at the three. “See you guys around.”

 

Because of his mind that can’t sit still, it’s one of the things he fears the most—being left behind by person he values the most. His mother’s words ring again throughout the whole bus ride to the apartment, and it’s making him go home with a heavy heart. They have fought a lot before, but they’re different comparing to touching the matter he refuses to acknowledge. This isn’t even an argument; it’s just Oikawa making an issue out of things.

Maybe it’s starting—where Iwaizumi begins to slowly detach, but then he also deserves to make new friends and it’s making Oikawa anxious. It’s just, the matter that hits him the most, is him doing  _a thing of theirs_  with other people—but maybe it wasn’t even their thing in the first place. It was probably only a casual matter for him that Oikawa mistook. But even if he hadn’t had personal feelings for Iwaizumi, it would have broken his heart somehow.

“Fuck this,” Oikawa laughs, because it’s funny,  _overthinking sure is fun_ , and throws his bag by the moment he arrives in his room. He goes straight for the bed, buries himself under his sheets, and pretends to sleep.

He realizes he’s been looking into darkness with a running mind when he hears a crack from the door. Iwaizumi comes home around an hour later, and Oikawa tries to stay still on his cocoon when he calls out to him.

“Hey, Oikawa?”

He doesn’t move for a couple of seconds. It’s silent, assuming Iwaizumi has gone out and left his bedroom door open  _again_ , until he hears an audible sigh.

“I know you’re awake Oikawa. You don’t sleep with the sheets over your head.”

Well, he does know there’s no use hiding from matters he will face in the morning, so he pokes his head out of his comforter.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi treads closer until he’s sitting on the floor to face him properly. He pats his bed head and Oikawa unknowingly wiggles closer to the edge.

“Are you upset?”

 _At myself, yes._  Oikawa chews on his cheek and nods. “A little,” he admits. At least his he’s being reasonably honest. “Isn’t Iwa-chan sleeping yet?”

Iwaizumi looks at him weirdly. “It’s 7 PM.”

“Oh,” Oikawa chuckles and pulls the sheets closer to him, avoiding his gaze. “It’s kinda been a long day.”

“I really didn’t mean to come,” Iwaizumi starts confessing. “I was gonna go home and my friends pulled me out of nowhere. They got a ticket for me so I couldn’t refuse.”

Oikawa scoffs, but he quickly cools himself. “I got a ticket for you, too.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, okay?” Iwaizumi rubs on his face. He does look apologetic and rather stressed about it. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“I’m not even expecting anything?” Oikawa sputters, eyes looking unruly in his unlit room. “It’s just a damn movie. It’s no big deal.”

“You look like you’re making it a big deal,” Iwaizumi points out. It’s true, he’s a hundred percent correct, but it hits something right at Oikawa and it’s making his blood shrivel.

“I wasn’t even gonna make a big deal out of it but you’re being shit about this whole thing,” he mocks, and pulls his comforter back over his head. He knows it’s immature to be in denial, but he might as well be a little shit while he’s at it.

Iwaizumi, as expected of the reasonable one between the two of them, must have known there’s no use arguing over small things when Oikawa hears shuffling and the door shutting close.

They don’t talk for the rest of the night, or the morning that comes after that. Oikawa finds no one cooking in the kitchen when he wakes up and proceeds to take a hot shower. He supposes he’s really done it now and that Iwaizumi will really drift away from him because he’s done dealing with him and his incredible whims. The water burns his skin and he scolds himself for his lack of indifference towards things—the argument, the feelings wouldn’t have happened if he only kept everything at an arm’s length.

He knows drinking fruit juice with an empty stomach is risky, especially when he has a whole morning occupied with lecture, but he’s too upset to even consider it. He steps into the kitchen to grab himself a carton when he spots bright orange plastic containers on their small table.

A post-it note sticks on the lid and Oikawa rubs his forehead, flustered from head to toe, when he reads it in Iwaizumi’s messy handwriting.

 

_Going for a jog. I made a lot so eat a lot. Don’t be grumpy anymore._

 

“Fuck.” Oikawa kicks the innocent chair out of frustration. He winces when it stubs his poor toe but there’s a helpless grin on his face that’s annoying the hell out of him.  _Of course_ , he thinks. Iwaizumi couldn’t probably sleep last night as well.

He grabs a pen from his bag, scribbles a reply on the bottom right of the note before he proceeds on his breakfast.  _Oyakodon_  and  _miso_  soup like the way he likes it.

 

_I hate you. Thanks for the food._

 

 

**

 

 

Within the nineteen-year journey of his walking life, Oikawa has never been someone who handled downfalls very well. He expects what he needs to, but the worst parts of expectations are unavoidable breakdowns.

The final lineup for Chuo’s university volleyball team is announced on a Monday. Oikawa has been looking forward to it the whole weekend to the extent where he treated Iwaizumi on a dine-out the night before. But when he doesn’t hear his name on the roll call, he has to ask his fellow trainees if he’s been called yet.

“I didn’t hear yours. Mine wasn’t called as well,” Fuyuki on his right says. Blood shrivels and drains from Oikawa’s face with the confirmation, and he has to step back before he entirely collapses on his feet.

A weekend’s worth of nervousness falls into nothingness and the inner pain is just as equivalent to the pain in his limbs. Oikawa tells himself to hold back, just until he approaches his coach one-on-one, and bites on his lip in hopes that he doesn’t appear pale.

“Proper practice starts tomorrow. While all of you rest today, I’m hoping for an excellent performance next meeting,” Coach says, arms crossed to look at the newly formed team. “Congratulations.”

It feels bizarre that he’s not on the line along with the group, because he’s always been used to belonging on the other side rather than where he’s currently standing. Oikawa waits for everyone to dissipate before he runs up to their coach, ignoring the burning pain in his knees as he sprints to catch up.

“Coach!”

Coach turns to him, and his face turns sour when he sees who it is. “Oikawa.”

Oikawa pauses to rethink but he knows there’s no time for hesitation. He’s determined to get his position back even if it meant shaming himself and swallowing his pride. “Is there a way to catch up to the final lineup?” He’s a little out of breath and his eyes wander around frantically when he asks. “I’m really, really desperate for this and I think my family will send me back home if I don’t make it.”

Coach sighs and rubs on his temple, and Oikawa begins to deflate. “Oikawa-“

“Will there be any considerations?” he begs. “I’ll take any of it!”

“No, no, that’s not- I know how desperate you are for this. Each and every one of you are. Everybody knows you’re a great player, you’re one of the most skilled people in here.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes light up in hope but Coach only shakes his head. “But have you seen your medical records? You’re on the verge of breaking your knee, your hemoglobin count is 13.2. We can’t have someone on the team with deteriorating health. It comes first, do you get me?”

“But I can still play well,” he reasons stubbornly although his whole body screams he can’t. He just really wants to rest but he can’t go around lying on bed with regret hovering his head. “I haven’t missed a day of training and I’m doing just okay. I was planning to sign up for a weekly PT session next week!”

“I don’t think it could be done with just PT, Oikawa. You need  _surgery_ , at least. That was the recommendation from the start.” As he hears this, Oikawa turns as white as sheet. He’s heard it twice but hearing it from the coach is just ultimate slaughter. “That’s what the doctor told you—everyone can tell. You may not think like it but your body needs it.”

“I can’t have surgery!” He blurts out, like he’s hearing the most absurd thing in the world. The people remaining in the gym turn to look at him. “It’ll delay everything. I can’t be  _not_  playing for months, coach.”

“Then there’s no use for you to be in the team. What are you going to do, sit on the bench? Be the water boy?” Coach pins him with a hard stare and Oikawa shrinks while on the verge of tearing up. “No is no, Oikawa. As your mentor, I’m responsible for your well-being if I let you in,” he grumbles as he starts turning on his heels. Oikawa supposes this is where things will start to end. “This matter is over for discussion. Come back when you’ve fully healed. Do you understand?”

Oikawa, with all the determination he’s given, concedes this time and his voice is almost unheard when he mutters, “Understood, coach.”

 

It’s difficult walking to class with a heavy duffel bag in tow and an even heavier heart. Climbing up to the fourth floor seems more like a task than a challenge right now and he’s using the banister like his life depends on it.

Oikawa aims for the library, where he remembers Iwaizumi will be at after being told this morning, in a hurried manner, that he won’t be able to make him proper breakfast. He had wished him luck and Oikawa had given thanks while he munches on leftover  _konbini_  food.

Skipping class for now won’t hurt, so, he does just that and heads to the library, to the same corner where he expects Iwaizumi is. Given his situation, he doesn’t even feel like talking, but at least his best friend will understand and leave him be until he’s in the right mood to spill things out. Oikawa inwardly curses how he needs to be emotionally dependent on specific people so he doesn’t break himself.

Indeed, he sees a familiar mess of hair on the farthest left, almost unidentified if he hadn’t known better. Oikawa approaches bit by bit, and with every step he makes, he practices to make his gait a little lighter and the heaviness of whatever’s remaining a little unobvious. There, as he makes his way, he sees an unwelcomed guest occupying on the chair he usually takes his seat on.

It’s same girl from days before and she’s huddling over the same book as Iwaizumi’s. From what it looks like, Oikawa guesses it’s the same old tattered book that he always comes back to.  _Spring & Asura_ by Miyazawa Kenji.

“This one,” she says, pointing to a page where Iwaizumi traces it. “His most famous poem. That was written while he was in the midst of his illness.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites. I like that a lot,” he replies with a tinge of surprise in his tone and distinct enthusiasm that Oikawa always loved to receive.

A burst of strange energy fills him up, goosebumps seal his skin, and he quickly exits the library with long paces. He doesn’t even know what he expects and he doesn’t want to acknowledge how he feels, but all that goes in his head is,  _Of course, of course_.

Of course things like  _that_  are eventually going to happen. Being in a different circle of people happens, spending time with other friends happens, inconsistency happens. He doesn’t want to make a huge fuss with the fact that he’s no way in position of doing so, because even his common sense is right—people don’t possess anything.

He amends his plans and goes straight to his lecture even though he’s 10 minutes late. The stare everyone gives him doesn’t affect him much and he slumps on his seat with uncanny concentration up ahead. It goes on for the whole morning, meaning, he’s somewhat accomplished of making through a round of classes without distractions, or perhaps with an empty mind. He even took notes properly.

He goes home with an unfilled stomach and strangely enough, he isn’t hungry either. Presuming the house is vacant as always, he goes straight to his room and sleeps like time doesn’t exist.

Suddenly, home doesn’t smell like anything.

 

On days, Oikawa goes to campus without breakfast in his stomach or anything in his mind. He stays normal with Iwaizumi, except in the morning when he doesn’t feel like opening his mouth, and gladly, Iwaizumi forgets to ask him about his training results. He only remembers to eat when he’s reminded or when his stomach starts to sting or when Iwaizumi slides in his  _bento_  in between lectures. Somehow, the pain in his stomach doesn’t seem like it’s from hunger anymore when he munches on prepared food spoon by spoon.

Sometimes when he bumps on Iwaizumi on campus, he’s either with the same group of friends he’s met in the cinema or alone with the same girl. In some way, it’s like seeing himself and Iwaizumi in high school whenever he meets both of them together. On their fourth and first proper meeting, he introduces her as  _Amaya-san_.

 _Night rain_ , Oikawa’s subconscious comments and he feels a threat from it.

She is pretty laid back, a little different from boisterous women he’s met and Oikawa doesn’t wonder why Iwaizumi is friends with her. She is simple, someone of a few words, and rather blunt in polite ways. She doesn’t get intimidated even if Oikawa tries scaring her and Iwaizumi is fuming at the sides.

Oikawa looks at her and then at Iwaizumi, and feels the need to gradually detach, because suddenly, he realizes that of all the confessions and  _almosts_  Iwaizumi’s gotten, he eventually ended up liking someone with short black hair and not with the extravagant, product induced.

 

He doesn’t talk about volleyball or do anything associated with it even though his fingers are itching and he has former teammates to greet. Eventually, he finds a hobby from restless hands through origami and buys a pack of papers to get him occupied.

“They say if you make a thousand paper cranes, one wish of yours will come true. Did you know it?” Iwaizumi asks him when he enters his room without precaution, body leaning on his door frame.

Oikawa looks up at the presence and forgets the folding process all at once.

“I know it that’s why I’m practicing.”

“Is that so?” Iwaizumi pushes himself away from the jamb and advances closer, observing his work with a snicker. “What do you have in mind then?”

Oikawa looks down at his crumpled paper, folded and unfolded many times, and then shakes his head. “I haven’t yet, but I’ll make sure to have one before I finish one thousand.”

Iwaizumi hums, nodding in agreement. “While you’re being patient with this, you could think of one, too.”

“Have you made paper cranes before, Iwa-chan?”

“Sure did. Haven’t you?” When Oikawa doesn’t answer, he scowls at him. “Sometimes I wonder what you even did in elementary.”

Oikawa scoffs, discarding the paper in the bin and getting another one. “Not everyone’s inclined to folding papers at a young age, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Want me to teach you it, then?”

He would have said  _yes_ , because with whatever offer Iwaizumi gives to him, he always accepts it along with making him do countless of favors. However, he remembers Iwaizumi can’t always be with him throughout the whole process and that he’ll never know whether he’ll stop teaching him at the 50th, 180th, 300th, or 500th piece. At this, Oikawa decides for himself.

“No, it’s alright.” He gently shakes his head with a thankful smile. “I’ll learn it myself.”

 

 

**

 

 

He is on his 56th crane when it gets a little restless for him. It’s 10 in the evening, and by far, while he leaves a little crack on his bedroom door open, Oikawa hasn’t heard Iwaizumi come in.

He tries not to mind the days where things are slowly starting to change, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he can’t help but be a little greedier for Iwaizumi’s attention or that both of them are just really starting to drift apart. It isn’t noticeable at first, because it’s slow and careful, but the receiving end in this state is Oikawa, and with this, he can count the distance they’re making just by short talks and unfulfilled Friday night traditions.

When he hears the familiar creaking of the door and a mumble of an arrival, Oikawa stops on his 62nd half-done crane, stands up to stretch, and pokes his head from his bedroom door.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi looks up from toeing his shoes off and greets Oikawa with a nod of the head. “Yo. You still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep yet so I got my hands busy.” At this, Iwaizumi raises a dubious eyebrow and Oikawa immediately shuts him down. “I was making paper cranes, pervert Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi snorts and heads off to the kitchen to grab himself a bottle of water. “I wasn’t even saying anything.”

Oikawa follows suit, leaning on the counter as he watches Iwaizumi linger, and then carefully asks. “Iwa-chan is late?”

“Oh,” he says in surprise upon looking at the wall clock. “Didn’t know it was that late already. I was out with friends.”

“Amaya-chan?”

Iwaizumi squints his eyes at him. “ _Chan?”_

“Amaya- _san_ ,” Oikawa corrects.

Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him when he asks, “How did you know?”

An “oh” slips unconsciously from Oikawa’s mouth. “Well, you’re always together so, I assumed you went out with her.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi mutters.

There’s a long silence, one that’s neither uncomfortable nor calm, and Oikawa feels rather obligated to say something. When a question longed to be asked pops in his head, a knock of a boulder that leaves his brain dizzy, he pretends he hasn’t swallowed a mouthful of tacks when he asks, “Is she a girlfriend?”

It catches Iwaizumi off-guard but a flash of guilt also passes by his eyes and Oikawa so as wishes he didn’t have to see it.

“Well… it’s not like that yet—” Iwaizumi’s face reddens and Oikawa’s heart wilts at the sight.

“Not yet?” he croaks, a silent bubble of laughter coming out of his mouth. Iwaizumi stays silent. “Eventually, you’re gonna be together, then?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” Oikawa exclaims, genuinely perplexed. From what it sounds like, it may have come out a little defensive, as well. “Did you know it? After all?” he whispers carefully.

He is just truly baffled why Iwaizumi is playing guilty when he could have just said it straightforwardly—without flowery words, without apologies—and yet again, he has the audacity to look guilty like he is at fault of something. Upon this short realization, Oikawa thinks,  _Ah, so he does know._

“What do you mean  _I know_ , Oikawa?” Iwaizumi fires back instead, and everything that’s on the tip of Oikawa’s tongue, including an incoming burst of courage, melts all at once. Who is he kidding, after all? Of course Iwaizumi doesn’t know. He never will.

Oikawa’s weary expression changes and he shakes his head before going for a lighthearted laugh. Judging by Iwaizumi’s unchanging curiosity, he doesn’t seem to notice the slight strain in his voice.  _How unusual_ , Oikawa thinks. He supposes things are really starting to change now.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head as he opts for the most efficient way. “I don’t even know.” He chuckles and rubs on his forehead as he takes a step back.  _What were we, then?_  he wants to ask but then that’s going to cause him a big heartbreak. “I think I was just imagining things. I-I’m going to bed.”

“Oikawa.”

“Even though I came out mean to her, she’s really nice. Even I think she’s perfect for you,” he blurts out, elbowing an empty glass off the counter. The shattering of glass is too loud in a quiet space, and when Iwaizumi hurries off to help him, Oikawa yells. “Don’t!”

Sure enough, the message gets across Iwaizumi’s head, so he stays rooted in his spot, watching Oikawa clean his own mess. He doesn’t flinch or twitch when a shard pierces his fingers and goes on to gather the clutter with bare hands.

“You’re gonna fucking hurt yourself, Shittykawa!”

Oikawa scoffs and quickly stands up to get the dustpan and broom to avoid further scolding. When he does, his vision blackens for a whole three seconds before a booming headache ensues. He’s too used to headaches to be distracted this time, so he proceeds on getting it done with the whole mess before dumping it all into the trash bin.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” he fibs, and pockets his injured hand into his sweatpants. Iwaizumi looks at him for a long second, like he’s waiting for him to say something. It’s the entire truth, what he expects, because Oikawa has a million thoughts in his head, a thousand things to say, and one avowal to confess. With all the boundlessness the world has to offer, there’s only a few things a boy like him can do, so, with what’s left of it, Oikawa smiles at him and says, “I’m happy for you.”

 

 

**

 

 

 Oikawa falls asleep on his 100th paper crane and to a scribble on his opened journal.

 

 

**

 

 

With all the motivation he’s carried for days, Oikawa has expected the method that had kept him guarded will eventually tire him. He doesn’t regret oversleeping the day after and waking up to his clock blaring an angry 10:38. He’s three hours past his first lecture and decides to leave the day as it is.

Today, he heads to the nearest sports court and resigns himself in there. It’s a school day for the gym to be relatively empty. Oikawa feels peace of mind when he holds familiar rubber in his hands and listens to the known pounding of it on the furnished floors.

It’s a pity that at this rate, it’s not him, volleyball, and the world anymore. As he slams the ball to the other side of the court, he realizes the feel of his dripping of sweat isn’t from hard work and satisfaction anymore and rather from distress. The audiences to his sides are akin to the fiends in his nightly thoughts, and as he plays, it’s like trial by fire rather than gratification.

He wonders if his rapidity of being out of breath is due to the days he’s been brooding in his own room, and at this, Oikawa questions his own competence. Naturally, he proves his answer by working too hard. It’s only him in the quiet darkness, after all. No one else can see him, so he pushes through with whatever’s left of his limits.

He is not certain how it gets to him but there’s a sudden raging ache in his head that comes after a momentary blackout. It comes like a crash of the ball—his vision blackens, then he’s collapsing to the floor with half a consciousness. His knee throbs like it’s been slammed by a bat but he can’t move enough to see what’s going on. He tries to avert his focus on his breathing but it only comes out in little puffs, and soon enough, his head is hazy from sensing different kinds of pain all at once—the feeling is akin to drowning underwater.

 

The next time he wakes up, he’s in the hospital and the sky is hued to ginger. The first thing he notices is how generic the smell is, and the moment he focuses his vision, the he sees Iwaizumi looking back at him.

Although he’s lying down, he can feel his heart dropping to his stomach, but then he knows he’d rather take a scolding than be uncared for.

“Are you gonna be mad at me?”

“Are you always going to be like this?” Iwaizumi starts calmly, but then there’s a tic on his forehead that’s hard to ignore. “This isn’t high school where I can monitor your ass 24/7. What if you got hit by a truck because you crossed the street on a go? I won’t always be there to watch over you, idiot!”

Oikawa’s heard this before, countless and countless of times, and internally scoffs how he provided such naïve response. At this, he can only manage a twitch of a smile. “You’re right.”

“This will cost you your career and your whole future if you keep this up.” Iwaizumi’s voice has become a little calmer now but if anything, it doesn’t do any good to Oikawa as he is hearing something he has been ignoring ever since the bomb dropped on him.

“I wasn’t accepted anyway,” he confesses.

Iwaizumi’s face falls. “What?”

“I didn’t get accepted,” he repeats.

Iwaizumi’s expression twists into disbelief, and he comes out like a gaping fish as opens and closes his mouth repeatedly. “Why?”

“All  _this_.” Oikawa gestures to himself grandly with his arms. Blood mixes in with the IV drip when the needle rattles in his skin. “It’s because of all this. I came all the way from more than six years to nothing because I couldn’t take care of myself. I swear if I knew that it would turn out like this in the end… I swear. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place,” he utters forcefully while trying not to let the strain in his voice show. His teeth come in hard contact with his cheek when he dares himself to look at Iwaizumi. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying sorry for?” Iwaizumi worries, looking more shaken at the revelation than Oikawa was. “Are you blaming yourself for this? Don’t.”

Oikawa nods weakly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“There are still other options, right?” Iwaizumi tries convincing. “We can encourage your mom for you to get a surgery then you can go back to training.”

Oikawa shakes his head.

Iwaizumi’s frame deflates. “What are you going to do, then?”

He only shrugs.

“ _Tooru_ —”

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.” He stops him before they can even venture into the unavoidable parts. “It’s given. It stops here. I want to sulk about it yet.”

While his head swims in the misery of his own words, he feels warm hands grabbing onto his. 

“I don’t want to say that everything’s going to be fine. But you know I’m here, you know that?”

Oikawa turns to look at Iwaizumi and for a moment, all uncertainties and doubts fade to the back of his head. Even hearing those words is fear itself, but then he somehow gets a small ounce of comfort from that voice alone.

“Yeah.” Oikawa nods even though he knows something contrasting lurks inside. “Always, right?”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt # 24 }_

_To love or to be loved_

_If that subject involves you,_

_~~Then I don’t care whether I choose which one is more meaningful~~ _

_Then I would love to have a chance on both_

 

 

**

 

 

“So, how are you handling it?”

Oikawa gulps, unsure what the inquisition is about, and tries to be indifferent. “Handling what?”

“He has a girlfriend, doesn’t he?”

Hanamaki visits him on the day he’s discharged along with Matsukawa. His stay at the hospital had been a short two and a half days, but Oikawa is genuinely touched that they spared the time to catch an early train to Tokyo. As Hanamaki prods on his question, Oikawa feels the air stiffen a little, even Matsukawa tries to be passive about the sudden bringing up, but his eyes clearly recoil to it.

“Oh,” he mutters, landing on an awkward laugh at the end while he pauses from getting tongue-tied. “Did he tell you?”

“Mattsun did.”

At this, Matsukawa physically flinches and then shrugs. “Well, he didn’t specifically say  _girlfriend_ , but he did mention about an appointment with a girl when we were texting… that’s why he couldn’t come to pick you up.” He juts his head towards Oikawa.

The reason was enough for his stomach to plunge to the ground, let alone hearing a double confirmation from his friends that indeed, Iwaizumi is taken by someone. Yet even though there’s a sore constriction from inside, Oikawa is more aware of how awkward the atmosphere is for him and only hopes he doesn’t break down.

“He really wasn’t joking,” he provides, pulling the sheets smelling like antiseptic closer to him. “I met her and she’s very calm. Has her shit together. Low maintenance. Didn’t Iwa-chan scored a jackpot?”

“It’s okay, Oikawa—”

“You guys are so insensitive,” he speaks with cadence, voice teasing. “You know I like that guy. There’s no need to rub it on my face. It’s a getting a little awkward for me.” He nervously chuckles, the pull of his lips tight and uneasy at the edges, as he fiddles with his blanket. As he ponders over his muddled thoughts while his friends stay silent, he’s saved by the bell when the nurse comes in for his medicine intake.

“Always be careful when you stand or sit up since the dizziness can sometimes be overwhelming and you’ll end up collapsing. It’s one of the main causes of anemia so we’ll give you a list of everything you should and should not consume, which includes your medicine as well. When it settles in, about an hour or two, you’re good to go. Don’t worry, I’ll come back with the discharge information for you to sign then you’ll be ready,” the nurse notifies with a kind smile.

Oikawa is too unfocused with the words she just said but nods nonetheless. “Yeah, thank you.”

The nurse writes something on her clipboard before glancing at his friends and then at him. “Question. Will your friend, uh, Iwaizumi Hajime? Will he be picking you up today?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “They will.”

“Noted. They can either sign for the guardian or whoever is picking you up but I’ll be back with it along with the doctor’s receipt.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa both take him back to the apartment and as expected, Iwaizumi isn’t home. Matsukawa volunteers to carry his bag for him, but the heaviness in his chest makes it feels like he’s carrying something heavier instead.

“Listen, we’d love to hang out and stuff but we have to catch up with the train as early as possible. Will you be alright?” Mastukawa questions in concern.

Oikawa waves his hand, dismissive. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better. I’m staying in anyway.”

“Call me if something’s up,” Hanamaki announces as they part by the door. “And don’t forget your medicines.”

“I won’t.” Oikawa rolls his eyes and pokes his head outside from the closing door to watch them depart. “Can I call you guys anytime?”

“Sure.” Hanamaki softens, giving him a playful ruffle on the hair that makes Oikawa bristle before he and Matsukawa descend the stairs. “Just never in the early morning.”

 

Oikawa takes his iron supplements on an empty stomach as recommended. Thirty minutes into digesting it, he feels bile rise up his throat and throws up whatever content that remains in his stomach. He feels another headache forming and leans on the sink to catch his breath, glaring at the bottle of tablets innocently sitting by the counter. His doctor did tell him about the side effects of iron intake and that if vomiting ensues, drinking orange juice is advisable, but he remembers he had consumed the last drop just days ago.

As he catches up with school work in his room, there’s always a weird taste of copper lingering in his throat that he can’t disregard. He tries to down half the content of his water bottle but the illusive bump of the pill sticks in his esophagus like lint and his mouth is salivating like crazy. Just when he thinks it will disappear in a few more minutes, he’s running to the kitchen sink to go in another round of throwing up. He isn’t even throwing up anything—it’s just water and the yellow remnants of his medicine.

He doesn’t hear Iwaizumi come in but he’s by his side in a matter of seconds, hand gently rubbing his back.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Medicine,” Oikawa croaks.

“Medicine? Where did you put it?” Instantly, Iwaizumi detaches from him to look for it but he stops him.

“No, no. Just bring me water.”

A glass of water immediately comes up to him and he consumes everything slowly, flinching at the aftertaste of bile.

“Was it the side effect?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, handing the glass to Iwaizumi’s outstretched hand for him to wash. “I’m still getting used to it.”

“Maybe you should drink it at night when you’re about to sleep? That way you won’t be conscious that you’re about to vomit.”

“The doctor said not to lie down after taking it.”

“Ah.” Iwaziumi nods and then he reaches out to sort his fingers along Oikawa’s matted bangs. His hand recoils when Oikawa flinches. “Did you shower?”

“I was about to,” he responded. “I just got home.”

“Oh.”

The air is a little stifling for some reasons, and Oikawa thinks it’s probably because they haven’t talked much in those days when he was admitted. Still, he asks him even if he sort of knows the answer already.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers, hand coming up to rub on his nape.

“Ah,” he mutters. When Iwaizumi suggests cooking for him, he shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll be in my room.”

“Hey, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi calls out to him when he’s at the threshold of his bedroom door.

 _There it is again._ There’s that small flicker of hope in him again, and it always ensues whenever Iwaizumi calls his name with that tone in his voice, all but making his chest tremble.

He bites hard on his cheek, until he feels another kind of copper stretch in his mouth, before turning to face him. “Yeah?”

But Iwaizumi falters, shakes his head, and Oikawa’s face falls a little. “Um, no—it’s nothing.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Never mind.”

Oikawa’s known it and he’s told himself several times not to assume anything, _because that’s gonna lead you to a whole lot of heartbreaks_ , but then again he’s been bearing that quite a handful of times—this makes him smile a little wistfully, so he does just that and mutters “good night” before closing the door.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt # 58 }_

_“How are you feeling?”_

_“Imagine being a painter, a dancer, and all of a sudden, you wake up to your arms and legs amputated. That is how it feels.”_

 

 

**

 

 

Most of the times, Iwaizumi is very adamant on accompanying Oikawa for his weekly PT sessions. There had been one time where Iwaizumi had caught him skipping breakfast before his second doctor’s appointment and scolded him the entire morning—Oikawa isn’t really a morning person but that did keep him awake earlier than usual. From then on, the clinic staff has known Iwaizumi as the ‘kind friend’ that chimes in with him during his weekly visits. Oikawa softens every time he hears it.

Sometimes, he even considers shifting his schedule in the morning just so he can avoid Iwaizumi worrying about him as each session ends. There is always that sympathetic gaze on Iwaizumi’s face whenever he glances at him on the treatment table that he doesn’t want to look at. He’s been feeling a little bit better, _just a little_ , in his knee as the days progress but the sane part of his conscience tells him it’s not the time to risk it yet.

Sometimes, he goes home to an empty house. Sometimes, he goes home to Iwaizumi without exchanged words. Always, he writes in his journal until he’s able to settle the weight in his heart.

 

It’s raining on the day there when there’s nothing to do. Oikawa has made everything done in the library as the temperature was nicer, and decides to cage himself up in his room to read the flyer he received about a university scholarship in Australia.

Oikawa is smart, but he isn’t particularly a genius, however, he does seem interested in applying.

Australia is so far—4,225 miles and oceans away. Perhaps it’s a little too _ambitious_.

Oikawa stuffs the flyer into his nightstand’s drawer—there had been a long list of history going on from that word alone.

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa takes a nap when he’s vomited the fourth time of the day. He becomes rather acquainted to stale taste in his mouth and to the rusty aftertaste of his medicine. Digesting it only becomes successful when he’s drinking citrus juice, but he runs out of stock once again and is too tired to purchase one from the convenience store.

It’s become of like a habit now—feeling insipid day after day while waiting for something good to happen. Even his dreams are blank for someone with a usually active mind. Sometimes, he dreams of Iwaizumi that awakens him with a hollow heart. Sometimes, he wakes up with an empty stomach and is reminded of a vacant chair on a table for two that dissuaded him from taking dinner.

He wakes up to a soundless room but there’s a gentle hand shaking his shoulder that gradually pulls him into consciousness. Iwaizumi’s face is the first thing Oikawa sees and he feels another momentary blackout occurring.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi whispers and his breath rustles the stray hair of Oikawa’s bangs.

As a pleasant, unhealthy ache blooms in his chest, Oikawa makes the excuse for the moist in his eyes to be the remnants from sleep. He smiles at Iwaizumi.

“Welcome home.”

Something shifts in Iwaizumi’s gaze and before Oikawa can overanalyze about it, he sits up on the couch while trying to fight the heaviness in his head.

“I bought takeout. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” Oikawa yawns. “Has Iwa-chan..?”

“Good. Because same,” Iwaizumi chuckles as he walks over to the dining area with a bunch of plastic bags in tow. “Come here. Let’s eat.”

Any day and it would have been just ordinary, but Oikawa only realizes he hasn’t done that with him—a simple thing such as eating a meal together—and that takes him to surprise. He tries not to show it as he follows suit, tries not to drag his exhausted feet after him, and helps Iwaizumi set the table. With how plain a task can be, it’s strange doing it again after a long time of not doing it. And as he does, he can’t say a lot of things changed; only that he’s not used to the silence.

“Have you been vomiting?” Iwaizumi starts kicking off a conversation. “I brought some orange juice.”

Oikawa smiles at his thoughtfulness but only briefly glances at him. “Just when I don’t drink it.  Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

He pauses at this, taking a succinct internal examination of himself, before deciding it’s not worth it. “I’m feeling better. And Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks. “I’m doing good, Oikawa.”

“That’s great.” He musters a smile, and then proceeds to down his food.

The food is good and he admits he's been missing a lot on proper cooking, so he eats as much as he can, even if there's a jam in his throat that prevents him from swallowing properly. It’s perhaps because of the unspoken words that he usually has to say—be it an exaggerated narrative of his day, or of a cat his classmate sneaked into class, or some nonsense he just wants to spew out. Oikawa doesn’t know he’s missed so many things that he’s just left to silently pondering over them.

When Iwaizumi looks at him, waits for him to say something, he just smiles.

 _You know I’m always here, right?_ Oikawa hears him say in his head, but the comfort of that, he thinks, is more than enough.

“Resident Evil 6 is airing tonight on local channel. Do you want to watch together?” Iwaizumi asks and Oikawa feels his esophagus congest that he almost suffocates on his food. He pauses, considering the pros and cons and the heartbreaks that follow and decides that, _yeah_ , he does want to.

“No,” he says instead and sees the appalled expression written on Iwaizumi’s face. It’s a blatant lie, because if anything, it’s been going on for years that he’s always looked forward to watching it with him for as long as he can remember. Because like this, action movies remind him of Iwaizumi no matter how much Oikawa hates them. He admits it’s a little embarrassing that he bought tickets for them beforehand and Iwaizumi turned him down on premiere night only to find out that he’s going with someone else. Oikawa smiles at him as amicably as he can manage and picks his soiled dishes up. His whole face hurts. “You were right, though. It wasn’t worth watching at all.”

Just when he's put the dishes on the sink, he feels fingers clamp around his wrist. Oikawa whirls around and unconsciously recoils his hand like he’s touched by fire, however, Iwaizumi’s hold on him is strong.

“Something’s wrong, right?”

As Oikawa looks at him, face unreadable, he distinguishes Iwaizumi’s expression as both _knowing_ and _persuasive_. The earthy orbs of his gaze are the most imminent they have been, and Oikawa remembers why exactly he’s tied on neutral grounds—neither afloat nor sinking. As he feels his thumb grazing on his pulse point, he feels his stance crumble along with his composure and his face scrunches as he lets out a tiny sob. It’s because it’s not _something’s wrong_. Everything is wrong. Most things are wrong.

“Am I right?” Iwaizumi asks, voice tranquil like he’s used to it, and pulls him into his arms. “Does it hurt?”

Oikawa doesn’t answer but his silent cries are audible against Iwaizumi’s sleeve. He knows he’s told himself not to, but he’s holding onto him like he’s the only thing that’s left.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Why do you put up with me?” Oikawa croaks, still managing to make it sound like a joke even though he genuinely wants to know the truth. “I’m annoying. I’m high-maintenance. I’m barely anyone to you. Right?”

_What am I to you, after all?_

There's silence for a while before Iwaizumi speaks, voice barely audible. And when Oikawa hears it, he thinks his whole heart sinks into nothingness and that he might as well be left alone.

“You’re my best friend.”

He sobs at this, his silent cries speaking for him. He tries pushing Iwaizumi away but without any successful attempt because that's always Iwaizumi Hajime—always, _always_ bringing him back. Iwaizumi doesn't even budge as he holds him down and just whispers reassuring words to his ears. Every word is pain, if anything, and Oikawa doesn't know where reassurance is anymore.

“I know. It’s just-” he whimpers, forcing Iwaizumi to look at the mess before him. He wonders if his patience is infinitesimal out of genuineness or pity. “This can’t go on—you putting up with me, because I’m just your best friend, right?”

Iwaizumi finally lets go of him, so he clutches on the counter before his feet cave in, pale fingers turning paler.

“But you know I’ll always be there,” Iwaizumi says like it’s an obvious thing but Oikawa shakes his head, takes a breather, or just a few seconds to cry silently to himself, not caring as Iwaizumi watches him a foot away.

He can’t stop hiccupping, his tears and snot run down his face like he isn't an adult to begin with, and it’s the last thing Oikawa wants Iwaizumi to see of him because he hasn’t been building his composure over the years for nothing.

“Yeah, I know. I know that,” he breathes out weakly, because Iwaizumi will never get it no matter their bond of more than a decade. And while he will always be there, Oikawa knows the odds are unpredictable and that some things are meant to be temporary.

“Then tell me everything. Anything,” Iwaizumi says sternly.

Oikawa gives himself a moment to calm down a little, looking down at Iwaizumi’s printed shirt to recollect himself by breathing in and out.

 _You've always got this_. _In and out._

He hasn’t regretted his words yet but he’s relieved he still hasn’t or he’ll run away again.

“What do I do, Iwa-chan?” he asks helplessly, gaze absently tracing the cracked tile of their countertop. “Did I do something wrong? Why is it—everything that’s mine…” he trails off, looking back at Iwaizumi, unnoticing of the lone tear that escapes from his eye. “It’s like everything is slipping away from me.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften and he, yet again, pulls him into a gentle embrace. For a moment, Oikawa swears he feels his lips against his temple, and his heart breaks all over again.

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi murmurs, pulling him closer. “I promise you. It’s not.”

 

 

**

 

 

Eventually, days get better for someone with unwavering determination. A once emotional conversation has lead Oikawa into thinking a million thoughts and considering a thousand options. As he thinks of an absolute resolution for himself, he starts sticking to it along with the journal where he dumps his emotions into to mold them into his own creative ways.

Sometimes, he makes paper cranes until he loses track of time. Sometimes, he reaches a little over a hundred when he’s too engrossed. Always—there is _always_ , there will always be  a boy that dwells in his thoughts and makes sure he never forgets to write a word or two before he goes to bed. Always, he dreams of him, and always, he wakes up sitting on his bed trying to cement every second into his brain.

And as every time he sees Iwaizumi the moment he comes out of his room, he reminds himself to never forget where his place is. Even when they’re both seated on the couch, he always puts a safe distance where that _pleasant ache_ can never happen. Sometimes, when Iwaizumi is a little too kind and Oikawa falls in his own trap and expects too much, he lets himself feel it until he can’t before sleeping the night away.

“How are you handling it?” Hanamaki asks him the second time on the night Oikawa calls with the silent reason of a pleasingly heavy heart.

“I don’t know how I’m handling it, but I’m just kind of feeling what needs to be felt,” he answers vaguely, tugging his blanket closer to himself as he watches the Tokyo city lights from the balcony. Hanamaki hums on the other side of the line, static buzzing like car engines heard from below. “Maybe it felt a bit better when I told myself that it’s okay to feel nothing or all at once—to be hopeful and a little hurt, because it goes away when you sleep.”

“But it comes back in the morning?”

“Well, the morning is for you to decide how you’ll take care of your feelings,” he answers. “Will you cave in today? Will you be resilient for this day? You decide.”

 

For everyone’s sake, Oikawa has been eating meals almost every day and only seldom misses them if he’s in a hurry. On a weekend morning, a day after he was out to meet his mom who came to visit him all the way from their hometown, he is about to forget a hearty breakfast his housemate prepared when the smell slams on him from the kitchen.

“Morning,” Oikawa greets Iwaizumi from behind and the latter startles, almost whacking the spatula into his face.

“Fuck, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Oikawa laughs, and when Iwaizumi notices the lightness in the atmosphere, he lopsidedly smiles at him. “What’s cooking?”

“Grilled mackerel. There’s rice, _natto_ , and _miso_ soup ready on the table.”

“Iwa-chan, you know I hate _natto_. It’s gross just like old people like you.”

Iwaizumi looks at him solely to roll his eyes before he turns the stove off and starts distributing portions in bowls. “You’re probably the only Japanese guy who hates it. It’s good for the bones.”

“I am still young though.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Is it why Iwa-chan likes eating it? Because an oldie like you has bone problems?” Oikawa lilts, making the vein on Iwaizumi’s forehead appear.

“I’ll whack your head with my leg.”

“No thanks. I don’t wanna carry you around when you can’t walk anymore.”

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi snickers as they both sit down to eat. They’ve been doing it together more often than not, so it isn’t as strange as it has been for Oikawa. “How’s it going with your mom?”

He softens, nodding as they simultaneously mumble a quick thanks for the meal. “She’s doing well. She asked how you were and then we went to buy us groceries.”

“I noticed.” Iwaizumi drones, starting to mixing his _natto_ with soy sauce and mustard. Oikawa is reminded of something nasty that he would rather not comment and grimaces. Nonetheless, he quite enjoys observing how it’s done. “She must have missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” he mutters softly, remembering the short quality time he had with his mother and chuckling at the memory. “Still naggy as always.”

“Well, she’s your mom so,” Iwaizumi snorts.

“Are you trying to imply something, Iwa-chan?” he accuses, feigning betrayal. When Iwaizumi stays quiet, albeit a little smug to suspicion, Oikawa silently stills in his seat and is left staring at him with fondness. “Say, Iwa-chan…”

“Mm.” Iwaizumi lifts his eyebrow as he chews on his food. Oikawa has that pensive look on his face that puts him on attentiveness, so he verbalizes his curiosity. “What’s up?”

“Were you aware of the international scholarship in Australia that’s been going around?”

“Sure…” Iwaizumi falters, sounding a little perplexed. “Kind of. What about it?”

Oikawa chews on his cheek before deciding not to beat around the bushes, because anytime of the day, any day of the week, or when it’s due, he’s ultimately going to discuss it with him.

“I might be going to Australia.”

Something about how Iwaizumi’s face caves in sparks a mix of emotions in Oikawa’s chest. The ache of a variety—from feat to want to blues—but he has resolutions to follow.

“Why?” He asks patiently, gently placing his spoon down on the table. As Oikawa observes him, he feels the appetite leaving him as well. “What about volleyball?”

Oikawa shakes his head, and although it hurts to say it, he reminds himself that it’s just the beginning. “I won’t pursue volleyball anymore. I’ve decided it’s not for me.”

“All of a sudden?”

“I’ve thought about it for weeks.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi nods in understanding, silently setting his unfinished food to the side. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two years,” Oikawa swallows, and looks down at Iwaizumi’s half-empty bowl. “If I do well and my scholarship prolongs, then four years.”

“When?”

“In a month or two.”

“What are you going for?”

“I’ve applied on creative writing.”

There’s a pause, as if Iwaizumi has just realized something, and he nods at it.

“I see.” And like this, Iwaizumi smiles at him, sort of like a recognition. Oikawa is envious of his resolve, on how he perceives and acknowledges things in just a few thoughtful seconds, and feels his heart disintegrate. “I’ll support you. If you’re happy about it, then so am I.”

“Thanks,” Oikawa murmurs, even if it’s bitter in his mouth. “I-” he swallows and then looks at Iwaizumi as if he’s begging for something—maybe to be held back—but he remembers that today, he doesn’t want to cave in. “-yeah. Thank you.”

And like a stroke of serendipity, a warm fold of a hand comes onto his. Oikawa doesn’t realize he needed it until something heavy dissipates in his stomach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Iwaizumi asks him, genuinely curious and perhaps a little desperate. Oikawa almost falters at the question, but then he looks at him—into the gaze that had kept him at ease, his stomach fluttering, and his heart lilting for years—and is reminded just why he now ought to do things they’ve usually done together on his own.

 

 

**

 

 

“Are you sure you want to pursue this, Tooru?”

Oikawa is hesitant, fingernails digging into his cuticles, when he mutters. “I—yeah. I’m sure, mom.”

“What about Hajime?”

Ever since he was young, he has never been good at concealing emotions around his mother, because if there is someone else he is open with besides Iwaizumi, it’s her. At this, his resolve breaks and he portrays the Tooru from his younger days—without the ferocity, without charades, but the young boy that’s poignant about things.

“He always does well on his own.” He’s looking down at his half-consumed croissant as he mumbles. “He is Iwa-chan, after all.”

Even from his peripheral vision, he can notice his mother firming his lips.

“He’s a very independent person, and I know you will do well on your own because I trust you,” she says slowly. “But will you be alright leaving him?”

When he is silent pondering over his thoughts, she continues.

“You know, Tooru. No matter how much you want to practice independence, you can't learn your way through it when you let everything go all at once. Just remember, some things don’t have to be set free if you don’t have the heart to do it. Just like a childhood blanket, Tooru. How can someone sleep without having it at night?” she says knowingly, a silent chuckle trickling on the ends, but the firmness of her eyes seep into his, like she’s asking him to consider her words.

“You always say the right things, _okaa-san_ ,” Oikawa huffs, smiling a little wistfully. “But I just thought that… maybe it’s about time.” At this, his mother softens like she knows what he will say next. “To let things go even not in your own will, because that way, even if it’s painful in the process, it’ll do good in the end, right?”

She reaches out to brush his bangs, a gesture that reminds him well of someone, and smiles at him proudly.

“So, yeah,” he nods with finality. “I want to do this.”

 

 

**

 

 

“What if he somehow gives you a chance, Oikawa?” Hanamaki asks him during one of their sleepovers, two weeks before his departure to Australia, where there’s only the two of them and their feelings. Sat on the rooftop, heads tipped to the skies, the night sky shows no signs of light. “What would you do even after all of these? When you thought you had it, you know, like having that feeling that you’re eventually gonna end up together only to find out the next day that it’s actually not you. But this chance, you can never be sure of it.”

“Me?” Oikawa laughs like it’s such a painless answer for him and Hanamaki glances and softens at how honest and so sure he looks. “Iwa-chan makes it easy, I guess, to make me go to some extents. Because sometimes, you’re not afraid to do things that involve certain people. So I guess,” he drones thoughtfully, chin propped on his knees. “I wouldn’t mind hurting again.”

 

 

**

 

 

Iwaizumi visits him in his room while he works on his 998th paper crane and during the night before he leaves from Japan.

He is less than twelve hours to his departure and has been preoccupied by folding and writing on papers. He has an entire box full of cranes, done by a couple of month’s worth of dedication, some empty while some containing a few words, and each folded with diligence and fervor. Sometimes, when the nights get a little sadder for him, his paper cranes soak up his tears. Eventually, in the morning, it all somehow gets lighter and the paper cranes dry up overnight.

“What’s up?”

Oikawa looks up halfway through the process and grins at his presence. “I’m about to finish them.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in surprise. “One thousand?”

He nods, emitting a confused chuckle. “Yes?”

“Well, that was fast.”

“It’s because I have more free time now,” he says a matter-of-factly. “What’s up?”

“I just came by to say hi,” Iwaizumi confesses, shrugging, and Oikawa feels a hard leap in his chest. “And I kind of like made a fort in the living room. Do you wanna watch a movie together?”

“Ah,” Oikawa wheezes, mentally groaning at the thoughtfulness while he rubs on his eye. “Resident Evil 6?”

“Resident Evil 6.”

“You know me so well,” he softens as he remarks in an amused tone, chucking his finished crane into the box. “You go a little ahead, I’ll finish one more.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

It’s only a plain statement that no one likely pays heed to, but to Oikawa, it feels like a void promise that he wants to take with him as a keepsake.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters as he silently grabs another empty paper. He doesn’t even realize it’s the last supply already and rather feels his heart deflate at the notion running in his head. He thinks of it as another metaphor, and that maybe all things for him will always stop at _almost_.

Under Iwaizumi’s gaze, he executes each fold carefully, uncaring about the hands donned with paper cuts. In the whole process, there had been times where he forgot which corner is folded into which, when he thought of asking for help, but sooner or later he gets there by himself, watching as his proficient hands work on their own.

Tonight, he forgives himself from not leaving the customary distance between him and Iwaizumi. They huddle together under the makeshift fort like they’re in their own small world and he tries to be as close as he can. There’s always something about Iwaizumi’s warmth that brings him back to somewhere he belongs and wills his heart to feel content rather than melancholy. When he woke up this morning, it really hadn’t dawned onto him that he’s leaving, but having the things around him that remind him back home slowly puts him into realization that he can’t have these in another place.

Tonight, he feels as if Iwaizumi is watching him more than he watches the movie, and thinks, _what a waste_. Because if things for him are not ought to be _almost_ , then maybe it’s _too late_.

“I really never thought you’d be away from here,” Iwaizumi mumbles and Oikawa looks his way. “Feels strange that you won’t be around anymore.”

“Why?” he asks honestly, the sound of guns and ammunitions silenced in the background. “Did you think we’d always be together?” When Iwaizumi is unable to speak, he does it instead. “Because I did. I always thought of it.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften. “Then why are you leaving?”

“Because not everything stays.”

They hold their gaze on each other for a matter of seconds until Iwaizumi’s phone vibrates. Oikawa looks away first to stare at the screen, and when he sees Amaya’s _kanji_ right there, he reaches for the remote to turn the TV off. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to mind this as he’s in a slight panicked tone when he excuses himself for the balcony.

When he comes back after a minute or less, he doesn’t even question why Oikawa is starting to stack up their empty bowls already.

“Hiroya called,” Iwaizumi explains, a little breathless. Oikawa is perplexed as to who Hiroya is and assumes he’s one in Iwaizumi’s circle of friends. “Amaya collapsed.”

“What?” Oikawa stutters, genuinely appalled by the news as well. “How?”

“It says from fatigue, but they’re on their way to the hospital.” Iwaizumi is a little hesitant when he says, “I’m going there.”

“Yeah, of course.” Oikawa nods, and although he feels worry, he can’t hide in his face that his heart breaks somehow. Iwaizumi looks like he’s ready to apologize but he stops him before he can. “It’s fine. That’s more important. We can watch it together next time.”

“But when is next time, Oikawa?”

“That’s not important!” he yells by accident and stills upon realization. Iwaizumi is unmoved before him, and while it’s quiet, Oikawa’s face cracks momentarily.

“I can ask Hiroya,” Iwaizumi suggests calmly and Oikawa curses his resolve. “He can take care of her.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Who knows what happened? It might have been dangerous. It’s better if you’d just go.”

Iwaizumi is diffident when he steps outside their apartment unit and he dons on a frustrated look. He looks at Oikawa like he doesn’t want to leave and Oikawa tests on how long determination can last.

“I’ll be back.”

“Yeah.” Oikawa nods although he knows it’s unconvincing for himself. “I know.”

As Iwaizumi steps out for good, literally and figuratively, Oikawa allows himself to be selfish again. He calls out one last favor to him.

“Iwa-chan.” His voice is small and unsure. “I’m sorry but can I hug you, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s face melts as he chuckles. “Why are you saying sorry, idiot?” Like that, he initiates him into an embrace; and naturally, they melt into each other like how they are supposed to be. Oikawa holds on to him like it’s the last time, because it _is_ the last time, and he wishes that the universe will stop for them even for a second. Iwaizumi smells like a childhood memory he will miss and Oikawa cherishes it with every tick of the clock.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

“Of course,” Oikawa forces out for the sake of it. “Of course you will.”

When they pull away, it’s already a little nostalgic. Iwaizumi is looking at him with the face that he wishes he had seen while they still had all the hours in the world.

“Why do you look the best only when you’re about to leave?”

Oikawa’s eyes waver, a little blurry when he asks. “What are you saying?” he chortles softly, throat constricted.

He resents that the world is too fast for him to keep up. He resents that he isn’t able to carefully take in the way Iwaizumi’s hand comes up to his vision and the other grasp his nape. But then if time is endlessly passing through like this, he figures out that the details before the kiss don’t matter when he’s feeling it like the world stops rotating. It’s what triggers him, his frontage and his walls—under Iwaizumi’s calloused palm, he tries to blink the tears away until they drop and fully soak his skin.

It’s more than what he thinks in his thoughts and daydreams—never in a million years would he have thought that Iwaizumi would kiss him and do it like he doesn’t want to lose him.

“I just think that,” Iwaizumi mutters, voice genuine and almost unheard when they pull away. But his warm palms never leave his face. “I’ve wasted a lot. It’s like everything is slipping away before my eyes.”

Oikawa’s face scrunches up and crumbles when he’s able to see him now although in a haze. Hearing it would have ended things—the frustration and the hanging hope—but it just pounds his heart into smithereens.

“Don’t,” he breathes out weakly, shaking his head.

This way, he tests to how far Iwaizumi’s determination goes and it perhaps ends right here. He walks away without so much as saying goodbye and Oikawa doesn’t want to think about how he reluctantly releases him. However, he thinks that even though he’s heartbroken, he doesn’t want to be remembered with the blues.

“Oikawa.”

“Iwa-chan,” he calls out. It takes a whole being’s worth of effort to give out the most gratifying smile he can manage when Iwaizumi turns to him. There’s that flicker of hope flashing in his eyes that Oikawa sees in himself, but he waves that off like the way he waves at him goodbye. “See you soon.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say ‘see you soon’ or ‘take care’. Instead he waves back at him and utters it like he’s sure—

“I’ll be back.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt # 99 }_

_When you see me last the last time, I want to be remembered smiling._

 

 

**

 

 

Leaving with four baggages in tow is heavy but leaving something behind is even heavier. It is not a surprise that Iwaizumi does not come back the early morning and for Oikawa to carry heavy expectations. He had chucked his SIM and turned his phone off the night before as he tells himself there’s no more reason to linger. He had been up all night lightening himself up until he fell asleep and woke up with a much better resolve.

His family fetches him up at 4AM, an hour before his flight, and meets up with Hanamaki and Matsukawa at the airport. Naturally, they all gather into a hug and Oikawa wills himself not to tear up when Hanamaki starts to. It somehow feels like a mini, quick reunion minus a certain someone, but there’s no reason not to be thankful for the small chance.

“He didn’t come, did he?”

Oikawa looks up to meet him and Hanamaki takes note about his eyes both bare and glistening. Nevertheless, he attempts a small accepting smile to front him even if such gesture doesn't reach halfway his face.

“No.” He shakes his head.

When Hanamaki sighs, Matsukawa interrupts. “Don’t give him a hard time about it. He must be guilty as it is already.”

“Seems like you’re really leaving already, huh?” Hanamaki smirks, fronting for an incoming sob. “Two months ago, you we’re rattling about how the four of us should have a sleepover in Miyagi.”

Oikawa chuckles at this and wrestles the arriving homesickness. “Before you guys know it, I’ll be back in no time. Then we can have endless sleepovers.”

“Don’t forget your medicine,” his mother reminds him kindly before Matsukawa pipes up.

“Don’t get attacked by wild animals.”

 “Don’t die there,” his older sister advises, earning them a wet laugh.

_This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 214B to Sydney. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time._

“Tell me that when you won’t crash your mom’s car again.” Oikawa snorts as he begins to feel the blues kicking in. He forces himself not to get carried away by emotions when he hugs his family and his friends one last time, belongings and mental souvenirs all ready to be checked in. As he does this, person by person, the warm physical contact is not enough to fathom and fill in the hole in his chest, and he knows he’s missing something. “I’ll see you guys around.”

Matsukawa gives him a knowing look. “You wanna say anything to him?”

 _Everything_ , he wants to say. He also wants to ask him all the questions, but then he knows he’s a morning too late. As he thinks of alternatives, Oikawa reminisces back to their half-empty apartment, remembers about something, and smiles lopsidedly.

“Yeah,” he reminds Matsukawa. “The carton box in my room.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 100 }_

_If you ever think that I have left you,_

_Just remember that no matter how I took everything with me in another place, in another world,_

_I have left my heart in the very spaces we made life in—our rooms, the school lockers, by the sidewalks on the way home—and with you._

_I will come back for it in no time._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't imagine it to be this long (sweats)
> 
> sund0wns.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

There are exactly nine hundred and ninety-nine paper cranes in the carton box Tooru left in his room. Hajime counts them off one by one, too immersed to stumble and be lost on track. In the bottommost part, he finds a folded note along with a Polaroid film that’s too memorable to forget—it’s a photo of him and Tooru, arms linked and smiles a little too drunk on happiness, taken on his last birthday.

 

_There are 999 paper cranes in this box. I ran out of papers and wasn’t able to make the last one, so I leave the finale to Iwa-chan! It’s up to you on how you will counter this, but I did finally thought about my wish as promised. What I sincerely wished for is written on the Polaroid, at the back part._

_Whether you will complete it or not, I hope this wish will, or at least, has come to you._

 

Hajime only remembers clearly that the photo had been the one that was lurking in Tooru’s wallet for the entire time. He always sees it whenever Tooru opens his wallet ans gets to take a peek; it’s always the first thing he sees—so picturesque and too timeless to fade. When he lifts it around to look for the words written in permanent black marker, the ink is about to lose its color but all he ever thinks about is the boy that owned such handwriting and harmless desire.

 

_‘Happiness’_

_—wherever I may be,_

_I will always wish for you to only come across the best things._

Hajime is a man of few words. Everything that comes to his head, he tells with his mouth, reasoned he’s always been dubbed by friends and acquaintances as being cruelly honest. There are only a few things he only keeps to himself, and sometimes he wonders if keeping words is a curse after all, because of all the things he’s always wanted to reassure Tooru but too much of a coward to say, it’s that he’s never ever been second best. Never number 2, never number 1.5, always number 1, no more no less. He’s dense to think that he confidently knows all of his insecurities, and yet he fails to see this, such simple reason let alone that involves him.

It’s been more than a dozen times that he’s picking his phone up and dialing Tooru’s number. He knows there’s no use because he had left Japan an hour ago, and only six minutes before Iwaizumi himself arrived at the airport. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had been there to meet up with him when they were about to leave as well. Tooru’s family was not around anymore and upon the bareness of their rendezvous, Hajime could feel how hollow his heart had become.

“He left already, Iwaizumi.”

“But I promised him,” he exhaled, out of breath from the running and disappointment, and tugged on his hair exasperatingly. He panicked, searching Hanamaki’s eyes. “I promised him I would come.”

“And you weren’t able to,” Hanamaki had said and Hajime had deflated like the life was sucked out of him. His friend actually had the gall to look at him with sympathy which made him feel even worse. “Let’s just hope for his safe landing and go home.”

And while the entire ride home had been silent, Hajime had kept on looking at his phone like he’s expecting for a longed-for reply. He knew it wouldn’t come but what scared him more was that nothing would ever will.

“He won’t get mad at you,” Matsukawa told him calmly with a rather sure smile. “If that’s what you’re worried about, I don’t think he ever has the heart to be mad at you.”

 

He finishes off the thousandth crane with a torn page from his _Spring & Asura_, uncaring about which piece is ripped, and writes on the blank page at the back with a hasty and haphazard scribble. Within some nights he’s observed Tooru fold paper by paper, he’s embedded the fine movements of his hands into his head and implements the procedure like how it is. It isn’t as neat as how he does it, but it’s a satisfying accomplishment itself with the thought of doing something with him for the last time.

_Wherever you may be,_

_I will be here waiting and counting the days off until you come back._

 

 

**

 

 

“Hello, thank you for boarding Japan Airlines. Would you like something?”

Eleven hours have passed and yet he can still taste the subtleness of mint and black coffee on his tongue. He doesn’t drink the latter and never does but he remembers making one for Iwaizumi on weekend mornings, late weeknights, and the last mug eleven hours ago.

“Black coffee, please,” Oikawa smiles thankfully to the flight attendant.

 

 

**

 

 

Adelaide is a big city for a boy with big dreams. People are larger than what he sees on his average daily life and Oikawa finds himself being overwhelmed by the hit of an unfamiliar place. Sometimes, the nostalgia crashes out of nowhere and he feels small and lost, but nonetheless, despite being unaided, he is amazed himself that he’s able to cope up with homesickness well.

He hasn’t checked any of his social media accounts ever since he had settled in and plans on temporarily quitting for the meantime. He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s avoiding Iwaizumi but then he’s only been in touch with his family, sometimes with Hanamaki, and even tells them not to inform anyone about his whereabouts. Oikawa convinces himself that it’s part of moving forward.

On the week after his first month in Adelaide, he goes to Glenelg Beach for a breather. There’s always something about the beach and the sunset that takes him back home, because as he sees them, he remembers that even with the endless expanse of the world, some things will somehow find a way to be connected to each other.

“They say if you look into the horizon and unconsciously think about someone, they’re the cause of both your happiness and pain. It means you love this person enough to break your walls down to bring you joy and hurt.”

Oikawa hums and his outlook of the statement rings in his head fondly. It catches him off-guard because something wrenches in his chest and it oozes in keenness.

“It doesn't need to take me looking into the horizon, or at the sea,” he replies slowly. “Or whatever the dramatics may bring, because I look at the other side of my empty dining table and think,  _it would be nice if he was eating with me and that this went on every day_."

“How domestic.”

“So cliché,” he agrees playfully. “But everyone wouldn't mind getting involved to domesticity."

The person laughs. “Say, do you always get this deep when talking to strangers?”

“It’s fulfilling to give a little piece of yourself.” He shrugs, eyes still glued to the gradually sinking sun. “Makes yourself remarkable to some people. Did I do that right?”

“Sure did,” the stranger sneers, and when Oikawa finally turns to him, he looks at him with confusion, and then recognition flashes his eyes. At that moment, he only realizes he’s been conversing in Japanese and almost forgets he’s right here in Adelaide. “Miyagi’s star boy. Oikawa Tooru.”

“No way,” Oikawa chortles, his chest warming upon seeing a familiar face. “You’re here, too?”

“On a scholarship,” Kuroo Tetsurou, a former co-trainee back in high school grins sleazily. Oikawa remembers him well and remembers the annoyance this guy had brought him before. “In the University of Adelaide.”

“Ah, same. Such a small world,” he awes, still quite appalled. “I never thought I’d meet you here of all people.”

“Were you feeling attacked that I finally know how much of a sappy person you are?”

“Please,” Oikawa scoffs, arms crossed. “You started it first.”

Kuroo extends his hands and Oikawa stares at it before trailing his eyes at him again. “Welcome to Australia. When did you get here?”

He accepts the handshake, done firmly like true captains way back in high school, and smirks like they are both on court. “Last month. You?”

“A month earlier than you. Are you with Iwaizumi, too?”

His heart leaps at the mention of the name and hopes he doesn’t look too stunned. “No, um, I came alone actually.”

“Ah, I would have thought you were together.” Kuroo nods, looking at him warily. Oikawa hates that look. He has that annoying, shady aura as always. “Since both of you seemed inseparable.”

“I get that a lot,” he forces out an off-hand smile and it might have come out a bit defensively daunting. “Did you come alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. What about that little guy?”

“You mean Kenma?” he snorts, cackling at Oikawa’s choice of words. “Oh man, he’s gonna be upset if he hears it. He’s a year behind me.”

“Right.” Oikawa feels stupid. “That explains it.”

“Are you dorming by any chance… or do you have a relative here?”

“No, no, I’m dorming,” he answers. “I have a relative though but they’re in Canberra.”

Kuroo snorts again—it seems that it’s a signature. “Ah, that’s good, then. We could hang out and stuff and talk about loneliness when you need to. Believe me or not, I haven’t gotten my SIM card yet but I’ll give you my number once I have it. You can search me on Facebook though.”

“I don’t use SNS anymore.”

He looks at Oikawa strangely. “Okay, then, if it’s all cool, I will have your number instead.”

Kuroo slides his phone to his hands and although Oikawa’s had his new local number for quite some time already, he yet has to refer from his phone. Because of this, he’s reminded that things around him are new and foreign and tries to brawl another wave of nostalgia.

“Like, I said, I’ll message you whenever. The place is still unfamiliar to me and it’s kinda exhausting speaking English, you know?” Kuroo pockets his phone once he gets it back and shoves both his hands into his training pants. “While Iwaizumi isn’t there, I could be your best friend for the meantime.”

Oikawa scoffs at the audacity. “Iwa-chan wouldn’t like hearing that.”

Kuroo gives him a knowing look. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you around, Oikawa.”

“Yeah,” he waves him off with a rather friendly smile, feeling a little lighter than he was weeks ago. “See you around.”

 

 

**

 

 

Some nights, Oikawa thinks of the _almosts_ that were not a scrap close. They fill his every nerve, occupy the chambers of his brain, feed the hollows in his chest but never once chance to satisfy him.

As the months pass and new memories begin, he realizes he’s never actually forgotten about Iwaizumi Hajime. He subconsciously remembers events that occurred in places he passes by—passing by but not fully going away. He bumps into him through the words he reads in his collection of books. He takes up impromptu daydreams, analogizes and projects them into scenarios that won't happen.

He bypasses the playgrounds and hallucinates on two tall, gangly figures—the other one just five centimeters shorter—stacking long limbs into a swing set. He spots an empty pair of seats on the bus and catches himself in a pensive thought; he recreates memories he carefully stores at the back of his mind. Sometimes, he imagines Iwaizumi smacking him in the head or anywhere he can reach as Oikawa is pulling him into one of his ridiculous shenanigans—brute expression but with a tinge of soft force on his strike. Iwa-chan has always been careful with everything.

Despite the warm imaginary screenplay, it brings nothing to him other than the swelling of the crater nursed by his chest. The longing he’s pushed at the back of his head surges to him like an unwanted visitor, a scab accidentally scratched open, a heavy downpour failed to be forecasted. It induces him a shivering breath and leaves his body cold. It makes his gaze hollow, his face devoid of emotions, but his emotions in rampant uproar.

Nights like these happen lesser than often. _It’s normal_ , he thinks—cannot be entirely avoided or spontaneously forgotten, because feelings will always be feelings. While you’re on the process of walking, you can’t determine whether you’ve gone a decent amount of distance when you are not looking back.

_Are you that far enough?_

_Do you need a little push?_

_Should you still continue?_

_Will you go on to another path?_

Yet no matter how long Oikawa has gone, no matter how far the expanse he’s covered, when he glances back, the distance vanishes like a whiff of perfume and not longer, he’s back on the starting line. He discovers the miles he’s walked himself doesn’t matter when he unknowingly picks some pieces of Iwaizumi along the road and absentmindedly tucks them into his pockets.

Rampant emotions and all, with the constricted throat and the dull throbbing of his heart, he wouldn't have named it any better. As he lies on his bed, it all boils down to one prime thing.

Iwaizumi will always be a void hope he visits in his 3AM thoughts.

 

 

**

 

_{ Excerpt 289 }_

_Embrace emptiness as a chance to consume better things. [11:59 PM]_

 

 

**

 

 

Iwaizumi Hajime has always been omnipresent to him, because his presence reaches the expanse of the universe, never-ending and unavoidable, always there and around, that even a single remembrance can make his heart do a painful beat.

There are times when words won’t come out the way he wants to, like there’s something that just doesn’t quite put a ring on metaphors and similes, but the constant ache in his chest doesn’t become constant anymore—it grows and grows until it numbs his mind and he’s placed in a state of emptiness, where what’s left in him is the minute part of his sense that prods his hand to write something that doesn’t mask the sentiment through figures of speech, or by beating around the bushes—just blatant admission.

_I miss you._

_I want to hug you._

His heart feels full as much as it feels hollow.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 301 }_

_I love you._

 

 

**

 

 

Iwaizumi calls him the night it rains heavily in Adelaide. It’s an hour away to the next day and he’s been up ever since the thunders were this boisterous. As Oikawa sees his phone screen light up with his name, he never thought he would need it until he feels the anxiety leave him all together.

His hand and voice tremble as he picks up and utters into the phone. There’s a deep sigh on the other side but the voice comes just like a warm blanket he had left home.

_“Did I call on a wrong time?”_

“It’s perfect,” Oikawa reassures as he pulls himself into a cocoon. “Why did you call?”

 _“I just had a feeling. I don’t know… my gut told me something,”_ Iwaizumi drones and he chuckles.

“Is that so?”

_“Mm. Ah, is it raining there?”_

“Yeah. Pretty heavily.”

_“Figures. That was probably what my gut was telling me.”_

Oikawa smiles to himself fondly, because even he is amused how two people are more than 7,800 kilometers away and there’s still a connection somewhere. “That’s cool, Iwa-chan. Don’t you have anything to do?”

 _“I survived finals week, so pretty much nothing.”_ Oikawa hears some rustling and assumes Iwaizumi is settling himself on his bed. _“Hey, you don’t mind me calling, right?”_

“No, no, not all,” he encourages, feeling a warm sensation in his stomach. “It’s perfect,” he breathes out, and even if the call just started and the shitty Wi-Fi glitches, he doesn’t want this to end yet.

 _I miss you_ , he wants to tell him. Such words shouldn’t be hard for friends who have been together for two decades.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Iwaizumi confesses and Oikawa gulps, feeling a strange whirr in his chest. _“That I hadn’t been calling often. I was afraid that you’d be mad at me.”_

“I can never be mad at you,” he says, a little surprised. That’s the thing that he hates the most—that he can never be upset with him no matter the circumstances, because that’s the only feeling he doesn’t want to convey to him. “What made you think of that?”

 _“Yeah, I know, I-”_ Iwaizumi chuckles, tone both guilty and relieved. _“That’s what Mattsun told me.”_

“It was useless for you to worry,” he tries laughing it off, and as it gets more and more silent, he worries if this will end up so soon after all, so he says it before either of them gets to press hang-up. “I miss you.”

 _“Me, too,”_ Iwaizumi says, and it’s all he ever needs to feel comfort—enough to forget the thunder. _“Come home.”_

Iwaizumi’s voice is pensive and it triggers something in Oikawa. There’s something about those mere words that engulfs him in warmth and it overwhelms him whole. He _does_ want to go home but then he reminds himself why he’s here, alone and away from the person he depends so much, and wills himself to smile.

“I will.” And then he asks him, “Do you believe in parallel worlds, Iwa-chan?”

He hears Iwaizumi snort. “ _Sort of.”_

“I’ll come home in no time,” he says in a small, reserved voice only meant for the two of them to hear. “Because in all worlds we’re at, we’re always bound to meet each other, right?”

As Oikawa utters these words, he so as thinks that if they’re both fated to meet in all different universes, then perhaps in some, they are not meant to be together.

 _“Silly. But you’re right,”_ Iwaizumi snickers, amused. _“Who knows if I’ll come to Australia myself?”_

“My advice is, don’t get lost. Since you’re so bad at directions.”

_“Hey, at least I’m not bad at driving.”_

“Driving can be learned, but short-term memory loss is incurable!”

_“Will you stop shouting at my ear.”_

“I am not shouting into your ear, I am shouting at my phone,” Oikawa explains like Iwaizumi is stupid. “It’s your pick whether you place your phone an arm away or shove it into your cochlea.”

_“Don’t impress me with your Science bullshit, it goes first into your eardrums, idiot.”_

Oikawa cackles loud enough to probably reach into the next room. Apparently, the strong drizzle has stopped by now and only the trickling of water can be heard from his window pane.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

_“What.”_

“I have something to tell you,” Oikawa confesses. When it becomes a little quiet, he softly laughs it off. “Promise it won’t be anything big.”

 _“Yeah. What is it?”_ Iwaizumi’s voice has become supple now and Oikawa takes the chance before the night ends.

“Thanks for everything,” he starts, thankful himself that his uncertainty doesn’t pull him away yet. “…ever since the beginning, even when we were not conscious of each other yet. It still felt like you’ve always been there. You’ve always come to me when I didn’t think of calling for you.” Somehow, it’s a preferable alternative to free his own feelings—to confess in a way that won’t sacrifice anything. The heaviness of pent up words lightens him in a way, and with the small opportunity and as a friend that admires, he utilizes it in the most careful way possible. “I know it’s strange that this came out of nowhere, but I just wanted to know how thankful I am that you’re always there. This way I’m more than okay with it even if I can’t ask anything more from you.”

 _“What the hell are you on, idiot…”_ Iwaizumi’s voice is thick and muffled on the other line. _“I was worried about you and then you say this to console me. You’re such an idiot.”_

“Iwa-chan can’t handle sap after all,” he teases but there’s an itch somewhere in his heart. “What an old man. Go to sleep.”

 _“Shut up. Go drink your milk, toddler.”_ Iwaizumi grumbles, then he’s coughing.

“The rain actually stopped already.”

_“That’s good. You’ll be able to sleep well now.”_

“Actually, when Iwa-chan called, I felt sleepy.”

_“Oh, was I that boring?”_

“No, no,” Oikawa chuckles to buoy him up. “It’s just comforting.”

_“I’m glad, then. Have a good rest. Don’t forget your medicine.”_

“I took them already. Can Iwa-chan talk just a bit more?” He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he asks. “Just until I fall asleep. Just for two minutes, don’t worry.”

Oikawa hears him let out a soft laugh and feels his stomach flutter. _“Of course.”_

The sleep doesn’t come the way he planned, but he purposely doesn’t respond a little later than a minute until Iwaizumi constantly calls for his name. Oikawa sits on his desk with his desk lamp the only source of light, a journal and a pen to his front, and embeds his voice until his screen goes off.

 _“I’m assuming you’re asleep, then. That was fast.”_ Iwaizumi’s voice is muffled by his bed sheets. _“I’m hanging up now. Just message me if you want to talk. You know I’ll always be there, right?”_ Oikawa pauses, pen still in hand, and carefully listens to the subtle sound of his breathing. It’s ironic how he always hears it but doubts it and constantly asks himself how genuine it is. _“Oikawa, I-”_ Iwaizumi pauses, and at this, Oikawa waits, because that’s all he ever does. But it never comes.

 _“Good night, Oikawa,”_ he says instead before hanging up. Once again, Oikawa thinks about the almosts that were not a scrap close.

 

 

**

 

_{ Excerpt 333 }_

_Maybe in another world,_

_I was with you_

_and you were with me._

_Maybe it is why I am half full;_

_because wherever that world may be_

_is where a part of my heart lives_

_and the remaining part I carry_

 

 

**

 

 

“Did you leave because of him?”

“I always tell myself I came here solely because I want to work things on my own, but as I come to think over it, maybe a part of the reason why I did is because I was afraid to watch him leave me, because I know we’ll both get to that point. But when I was about to leave, I realized I was also scared of not seeing him anymore. Unfortunately, I had to go without seeing him one last time, but if time hadn’t been scarce, I really wanted to tell him I would have still waited until he came.”

“How was he like?”

“He was kind. Very kind.”

 

 

**

 

 

At age 20, Oikawa learns that everything doesn’t have to go his way and that he should love the fate he’s destined to walk through. It takes several rebirths of a fully healed heart to accept pain itself and that it’s okay to hurt and hurt until you get to fully grasp realizations. It had took him a damaged knee, arduous PT sessions, and tearful nights to understand that his first career choice shouldn’t be the only way of life, that the slapping of the ball isn’t always the best method of letting bottled emotions crack and yield, and that the healthiest way to shape himself into betterment isn’t always the work of muscles but also the motion of the mind and heart.

Oikawa extends his degree in University of Adelaide for two more years and plans on fully finishing his course. It has been months since they last talked properly, but he can feel Iwaizumi’s presence everywhere he goes—be it in a Japanese convenience store, in the cinema, or at the beach. When he thinks their communication is finally on a dead-end, Oikawa receives handwritten letters from him out of nowhere and feelings surge in like water in an arid pit. No matter the distance, no matter the passing time and ephemeral feelings, to him, Iwaizumi will always loom his heart as large as life.

 

At age 21, sometimes, he wonders how Iwaizumi is doing—if he has left their shared apartment already or moved to a bigger one and finally adopted a dog he had been wishing to have. Often, he wonders what it would be like to see him again—just to test the waters, just to know if he has changed a lot or if his own feelings had. His state of mind changes as he grows, but he thinks, despite that, maybe some big things aren’t always successful in changing the heart.

Kuroo Tetsurou goes back to Japan in his final year and hopes for them to meet again. Oikawa, although he thinks it’s time for him to go home, too, is unsure when he will himself but keeps a promise either way. Kuroo has been a good friend all throughout their stay together and they have both endured the cons of being a foreigner in another country. Although in a platonic way, he’s made Oikawa’s heart lighter through heart-to-heart talks even if he initially thought Kuroo wasn’t capable of baring his emotions. He is like Hanamaki in a way, just that he doesn’t know him very well—just his feelings and the sentiment that resides in him.

“Come to think of it. I do know about your stuff with Iwaizumi but I don’t know you well at all,” Kuroo had said during another one of their nights out together.

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“It’s like being friends with benefits… but emotionally.”

Oikawa had sworn everyone in Glenelg Beach could hear the ridiculousness of laugh. “It actually makes sense putting it that way but what the fuck.”

 

On his and Kuroo’s last hangout together, it had been one of the most memorable to him. They had both sneaked into the dorm rooftop at midnight, uncaring about the rules with alcohol in their hands and unhealthy junk food on the brink of expiring. Oikawa isn’t someone that breaks ground rules easily because first of all, he is a good student. Second of all, he is in a foreign country. And third of all, his trust issues are strong with Kuroo Tetsurou. The latter had insisted it and pulled off a guilt trip, said that it’d be a pity if they didn’t do something reckless before he left, until Oikawa had confided without a word.

“I act shitty pretty much all the time when I’m around him, but he…” The alcohol kicks him tipsy but Oikawa had grinned, palms dug into sleep-deprived eyes. “He makes me a better person. I don’t know how better it is in the eyes of people but I just feel it within myself.”

“Ah. That’s when you know you want that person, like, to be with you your entire life.”

“To hold you down in case you veer off somewhere throughout your whole waking life,” he supported.

“Yeah.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he then parroted.

“That feels kinda fucked up, don’t you think?” Kuroo grumbled after taking a long swig of his beer. “That you look at someone and like, _shit_ , suddenly you want to marry them. And then the next day, you act all mopey because you think that’s not gonna happen.”

“I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was being _all mopey_.” Oikawa cringed and then softened when he noticed the lights in the building he’d been unconsciously staring at went off. “Because when I knew fell in love with him, I felt really happy. Not because I was ignorant about the pros and downsides of falling in love but because I knew it was only him, and that my heart had went to the right person. I know even the odds can never be sure if he was the right one, but I am just glad it was him."

“I know you know it, but I just feel like if you had said your true feelings to him, he wouldn’t cut things off like that. Being best friends and shit,” Kuroo had offered with a genuine hint to his tone. “He’s a good guy.”

“Indeed.” Oikawa nodded, smile lopsided and fond. “But even if I hadn’t fallen for him, I guess everything would still be unchanging. I would still have been selfish. I would still have wanted to be by his side.”

“Well, sometimes you’re not conscious when you’re falling in love. _I guess_ , given any circumstance, you would still have fallen for him.” Kuroo made his point and Oikawa had been slightly irked that he was right. “You believe in parallel worlds, right? That’s your common denominator as Oikawa Tooru. You love him in every world.”

“If it _is_ true… Kuroo, do you think it’s a tragedy?”

“Do _you_?” he countered but Oikawa had made his answer.

“I don’t.”

 

At the precipice of his 23rd year, he learns that Iwaizumi Hajime will always be a memory he subconsciously visits, that it’s unavoidable to think about him first thing when he’s awake, and that there’s nothing wrong of those. He learns that it’s okay not to hurry things up because even the oldest memories take time to be forgotten. If scars don’t heal, it's okay to end up loving them, too. He lets them remind him of the nights where his heart had ripped open in such a rewarding way because of how full and sublime it is just to love a person alone.

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa hasn’t dreamt of him in so long, and when he does, it’s more vivid than the ones he makes in his daydreams and a little close to reality.

He dreams of spring sunset, of ivory pants on equally white sand, of sea-soaked feet, and of warm hands gripping his own.

“It’s wonderful having you here,” dream-Iwaizumi says and Oikawa feels as though he’s finally back in his hometown.

His subconscious doesn’t tell him it’s a dream and he feels every moment run in his veins—like it’s something physical and not imaginary. Iwaizumi still tastes like the mix of mint and black coffee in Oikawa’s tongue, however, he can’t get more of it just like before. The kiss lingers longer this time but it’s lacking. Oikawa wants to see what kind of face Iwaizumi’s making, wants to ask him why it feels unsure, however as he tries confirming it, he’s jolted awake by a small twitch under his brain.

Oikawa wakes up to a heavy downpour and a hollow feeling.

After all, these dreams are just products of a yearning subconscious.

 

 

**

_{ Excerpt 469 }_

_An eternity could pass_

_and I could meet you down a road I am unfamiliar of_

_and it would be like the cherry blossoms in April_

_I would still fall all over again_

 

 

**

 

 

Four years since he left, Oikawa sends a message to Iwaizumi's old, and hopefully still working, number. It feels like redoing and old memory, but he leaves it at that.

 

[02:33] Missing you everyday.

 

 

**

 

 

On the day of his graduation, he receives a bouquet of gladiolus and another handwritten letter from Iwaizumi, and in his usual messy _kanji_ , a simple ‘ _Congratulations’_ is written in there.

For another year, Oikawa extends his stay in Adelaide for work but hasn’t heard anything from Iwaizumi even until he comes back home. As he steps out of the train, Miyagi is still the same place he’s taken with him throughout the years he’s gone, but he also tries not to let Iwaizumi hear the news that he’s back.

Maybe he’s really scared—he’s scared to know whether Iwaizumi has moved on with his life with new people revolving around him. He’s scared to know if he’s forgotten, because in all the years he’s been away, he was all that he ever remembered fondly.

 

 

**

 

 

“Does he know?”

 _“’Course not,”_ Hanamaki hisses, but Oikawa can also hear the distinct rolling of his eyes on the other line. _“Even if I’m done with this hiding shit and you’re both my best friends, I’m keeping this stupid promise anyway.”_

“So, you think after years of no absolute communication, I can will myself talking to him again?” he scoffs, and the thought has his fingers come up to cradle the tic on his temple.

_“You’ve been home for more than three fuckin’ months, Oikawa. In Miyagi. His mom even knows but I had to go make up some ingenious bullshit of explaining to her why no one should tell him yet.”_

Teeth worrying his bottom lip, Oikawa sighs. “Did you say it’s going to be a surprise, then?”

 _“Fuck yeah!”_ his friend yells, and Oikawa can distantly hear someone shushing him from the background. _“No, seriously. Go talk to him. Have you seen—no of course you haven’t, but he’s been looking lonely since, I dunno, who-knows-when! You know what? Fuck both of you. I’ll fly abroad instead so I’ll leave you dealing with your shit.”_

Oikawa internally groans, lightheaded with the thought of Iwaizumi being possibly lonely because of him, and unintentionally bangs his head on his mahogany table. _There_ , he deserves it. Perhaps if he does it one more time or maybe _several more_ , he’ll soon come to his own senses.

While in the middle of his internal debate, he is knocked out of his stupor by another light tapping on wood.

“Wait, I gotta go. I’ll call you back.”

He hears Hanamaki wheeze and make a laugh that’s somewhat sardonic.  _“Is this how you deal with your problems? Running aw-”_

Oikawa hangs up in the middle of his ramble. _Very mature_ , he hears himself at the back of his mind and maybe from several other voices. He slams the phone down and hurriedly pretends to be typing on his laptop before calling out, “Come in.”

The door pushes open with a slow creak that Oikawa had to stretch his neck to see who it is. A familiar student, he guesses from one of his classes, steps inside. Upon realizing that it’s Oikawa who he sees instead, he subtly startles and makes hurried a bow for a greeting. “Good afternoon. I am looking for Sugawara-sensei?”

“Ah, he left me with a notice that he won’t be back until 6. He’s out for a meeting.”

“Damn.” Oikawa hears the student mutter, and then observes him tentatively looking at him and stepping out of the door.

“Is it something important?” he helps, closing his laptop.

“It’s supposed to be for a project for my Psychology class. I had him as an interviewee in mind, but he’s not here so—” he rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Oikawa one more time and then at the empty chair by Sugawara’s desk. Oikawa is instantly able to pick it up.

“Any change of minds? I’m free until five,” Oikawa cheekily provides and the relieved expression on the student’s face is pure delight.

“Wow—I thought I was gonna be screwed right there. Would you mind if I come in?”

“Of course not. Please do.” He gestures to one of the seats to his front. His eyes trail on the huge hand-carry the guy is bringing with him and questionably looks at him with a tilt of his head.

“Oh, right. I guess I should formally introduce myself, then.” With another courteous bow, this time not hasty, he starts on with the introductions. _Yahaba Tomori_ , second year in Film, one of his students in his English Literature class, no wonder a familiar face.

“Your name reminds me of a friend.”

It’s clear Yahaba II doesn’t know how to respond to that and just smiles politely as he begins to set his gears up. “I hope you don’t mind the cameras. I’ll be putting them in 3 places—one to your front, which I’ll be holding since I don’t have an extra tripod, one forty-five degrees to your right, and right behind me. If the lighting is too much, you can tell me.”

“It’s all good.” Oikawa smiles, trying to tidy things up a bit by clearing his desk. He catches the glimpse of a small frame the size of a 99mm x 62mm Polaroid and feels his chest squeeze for a moment. “You say it’s for your Psychology class?”

“Yeah!” Yahaba beams. “Given the topic: _Ardor_ , we are assigned to film someone talk what they’re passionate about, only between the two options which are: _money_ and _love_.”

“So, the concrete one and the abstract one.”

He nods. “Exactly.”

“Interesting.” Oikawa taps his chin and longingly dwells on the latter with a fond smile on his face. “I thought your Psychology teacher would lecture you about Freudian and Jungian theories or, say, uh…” he waves his hand vaguely. “The matters of psychophysics?”

“He briefly did, actually. It’s kinda innovative how he associates his assignments with each majors the fact that this is such a huge school. Say, in this term, the Art would illustrate the various spectrums of emotions via mixed media, while the Architecture would design the interviewee’s preferred home via their taste. He’s pretty cool.” Yahaba shrugs. “Very approachable. Knows priorities so we wouldn’t get out of touch by silly minor subjects.”

At this, Oikawa squints, all accusing. “Are you saying my subject is silly?”

“Ah, please don’t misunderstand.” Yahaba waves his hands frantically. It’s comical seeing a person panic in a situation like this. “I like your subject a lot, Sensei.”

“Good. Then, I wouldn’t have to attack this Psychology teacher of yours.”

The remark earns both of them a brief, hearty chuckle.

Yahaba claps his palms excitedly. “Mm… so shall we get on to it?”

“We started like five minutes ago.” Oikawa rolls his eyes but it’s playful. “But go ahead. Love or money, huh?” His smile is lopsided, and he leans on the table, starting to feel relaxed that he gets along with the student well. “Love as an answer is cliché to thirsty, single youngsters how money is to married people.”

This makes Yahaba giggle so hard that he almost drops his camera. “Ironic but now that I think of it, it’s actually true. I suppose Sensei’s choice of topic would be _love_ then?”

“Way to imply that I’m single, Yahaba-kun.”

“It’s all good!” He reassures. “It’s all going to be epic since I do so think you have quite the unique single life, Sensei.”

Oikawa tries suppressing a chuckle. “What makes you say that?”

“Ah, since _you know_ , ever since you arrived, the talks have been all about the bachelor from Australia.”

He sputters, face turning a bright red. “I don’t really know what to say about that.”

Yahaba grins, leaning back on his chair and grimacing right when the footage shakes. He might be going to use some stabilizer for that, Oikawa thinks, but decides to leave him to his own devices. “Of all potential suitors, do you even have anyone in mind?”

There has only been one, _yes_. But _potential suitor_? He only chuckles and mumbles a humble, “no one.”

His student looks at him a little doubtfully. “Since when did you last have a lover, Sensei?”

Oikawa blinks. “High school? First year of high school? Actually, no,” he clicks his tongue as he considers this to no avail, past long gone and forgotten. “that wasn’t even a real relationship or a _real fling_ , so if we count that out, I haven’t had anyone.”

Yahaba blinks right back and Oikawa hears the gears turn in his head like he's beginning to mentally count off. “Isn’t that like, 7 or 8 years ago or never at all?”

“You look doubtful. I’m not sure if that’s making fun of me.”

“’Course not! It’s just… unbelievable?” He eyes Oikawa up and down. “Speaking of it reminds me of this Psychology teacher.”

“ _Wow_ , he must be sad,” he states sarcastically. Yahaba firms his lips, purposely avoiding his look, and Oikawa squeaks. “I have suitors!”

“And yet, Sensei, you still don’t have anyone?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No.”

“Sensei,” Yahaba starts, tone wondering and just clairvoyantly accusing. It makes Oikawa’s brain turn into a panic mess. “Perhaps you are heartbroken… or waiting for someone?”

The conjecture kicks Oikawa hard out of the blue that he feels his heart leap to his throat, rendering him wordless. A caught off guard reaction means he’s caught, and so, with a wobbly smile and a faux-wholesome laugh, Yahaba gives him a knowing look, to which he only looks away and shrugs.

“Maybe.” _You got me_.

The smile lingers in there and he can’t seem to brush it off despite the quivering. Maybe it’s the one that is wistful and unconscious.

“So, um… you haven’t been trying to, like, y’know, look for anyone else instead?”

“No,” he only chuckles out the answer. “Of course not.”

_What an eloquent answer._

Yahaba makes a small smile—encouraging like he genuinely wants to know. “Why?”

 _Well_ , there isn’t really any reason why. Or maybe there is, but he is simply unable to say it. But then, he doesn’t have to, and he opts for an alternative.

“Mm, let’s just say I'm high maintenance,” he says coolly, mood turning a hundred and eighty degrees as if he’s talking about the weather, or why dogs don’t fly. _Because they are capable of being content with just four legs,_ he thinks stupidly before carrying on. “ _Pet peeve number 30-something:_ I don’t like it when I bother or eventually piss anyone off and think of me as their, you know, _obligation._  We’ve heard about relationships becoming an obligation and that’s mess itself _._  You know the saying about _knowing someone from the tip of the hair to the toe_ , but I don't think it was quoted that way.”

“It's familiar,” Yahaba chips in.

“Right?” Oikawa smiles boyishly and proceeds. “So, to me, to know someone deeply, it either takes a person an amazing sixth sense for it,” he adds. “ _or_... maybe years of observation, but even I refuse to let myself open up completely. That's why the only choice is the former.”

Yahaba hums, a small quirk on his lips. “How’s it so, Oikawa-sensei?”

“There was only ever one person,” Oikawa answers as if telling the secret to magic. “A long-time friend of mine. We were always glued to the hip ever since we were still in diapers.”

Yahaba laughs at this and Oikawa pipes up defensively.

“What?! Some people also have that kind of friend, Yahaba-kun!”

“Sure, Oikawa-sensei.”

Oikawa glares at his student but he continues nevertheless. “Don’t you have anyone who’s been attached to your hip since birth?”

Yahaba shakes his head politely. “No, I don’t, Oikawa-sensei.”

 _How civil_ , Oikawa thinks.

“Anyways, this person,” he carries on, and Yahaba observes him as he delves back into topic, all arms and hands on the desk. “His assumptions of me never once were incorrect, well, because he always seemed to know what I was thinking. _How convenient._ It’s like coming out of a low-budget movie.” He mocks and as he crosses the threshold of reminiscing, it starts there. The smallest of smiles show and Yahaba interests himself into the minute tug of lips. “Say, with how you’ve heard these lines before, it’s guaranteed my life isn’t quite as ‘unique’ as you thought, Yahaba-kun. (Yahaba merely shrugs at this.) He’s like your classic _protagonist’s best friend_ , _the sidekick, the most levelheaded character of the movie_ , always seeming to know when I was mad or pretending to be, lonely and in need of company, on the verge of lashing out, breaking, bottling up. And when I was, the next thing I know, he’s right at my front door in five minutes. It didn’t matter to him whether he snuck out at midnight and got scolded over in the morning. And when I’m the happiest, it doesn’t take a blind man to notice that he’s just  _there_.” He pauses— “ _Always_.” —and then breathes it out, because everything had been _always_ , like a life routine as simple as breathing air. “Now I know why people are inclined on recycling this trope, because in the perspective of the creator, it’s something hyped on no matter how cliché it is. Like a cult favorite. Makes everyone fall in love, too, or maybe dream of themselves in a similar setting.”

The camera almost forgotten, Yahaba’s smile turns into some kind of reminiscing, and he visibly swoons at Oikawa’s words. “It’s really something when one hears someone talk as poetic as you, Sensei.”

“Don’t flatter me,” Oikawa snorts, drawing out a lighthearted laugh from Yahaba. “I just thought it was amazing... well, _you know_ , to have someone understand you like an open book no matter how you close yourself off to everything, that in the midst of the people not lending an ear, he becomes a saving grace. It’s like he was a psychic.” Yahaba can’t help the knowing grin he pulls as he studies the way he talks about this _someone_ like he hangs the celestial bodies in the sky. It astounds him how a person can be this zealous in describing someone alone. He wonders just how special they are to _this_ Oikawa-sensei.

“He was very special to me,” he provides like he just read into Yahaba's wondering. “and I always cherished the times I spent with that person, because you don’t always have that wonderful chance happen to you, do you?”

Yahaba frowns, all curious and all but confused. “How’s it so called a _chance_ , and not like, just some normal phase in your life?”

“Good question.”

Yahaba only rubs his neck.

“All throughout my life, I always felt like I become the best when I am around him. With him, I feel number one, I feel _invincible_ , I feel infinite, like I have a lot of possibilities within me,” he brags with delight in his eyes. “He makes me a better person; but then, ‘better’ is underrated. He makes me become the _best_ ,” he breathes and something changes in his face. It is before Yahaba can distinguish it that he makes a smile a tad too positive for the air around them. “But even so, I kind of had known throughout that... _yeah_ ,” he says as if the thing is apparent, smile tilting, and vaguely wiggles his wrist. “that one can’t always be a person’s first _something_ , first _anything,_ because people grow up seeking for and meeting better things. I think a lot of us can relate—it’s normal—but not all can appreciate left memories that should be kept close. So, maybe the good things you felt in a certain phase that is now long behind can only be called a chance you once had.”

Stunned to silence, Yahaba, for a courteous moment, lets Oikawa have his quiet trance.

“I get it. That really makes sense.”

Oikawa grinned, that _something_ in his face now temporarily gone. “I’m glad I explained it fluently.”

“Do you still think about that person until today, Oikawa-sensei?”

“Always.” Admittedly, he nods, doesn’t appear wavered in any way, _because_ always _like it had been easy as breathing_. His smile is fond. “It never occurred to me that I’d forget him. He reminds me of a lot of things.”

 _Maybe_ , Oikawa thinks, if Yahaba hadn’t known better, he might miss the wistfulness he wears under those layers and layers of positive frontage. He isn’t _this person_ after all. He’s probably looking like he wants to say something more because Yahaba lets him with a prodding smile.

He catches it and looks thankful, if not quite guilty. He is nothing but grateful for an odd chance of sharing his introspection to others, because if there is one thing he is not scared of, it is giving out various little pieces of himself to the world. What does he have to lose? He’s got time in his hands, his class doesn’t start in the next three hours, and ever since he came back home, there has been an awful restlessness in his chest he needs to wear out. He merely needs an _outlet_ of some sorts, he convinces himself.

“You see, Yahaba-kun, they say time heals everything, so, _you just gotta be patient,_ and I partly believe in that.”

“Partly?”

“I’ll come to explain it shortly.” That puts Yahaba to stay in silent pondering as Oikawa goes on. “My knee, I injured it permanently and wasn’t able to go pro or play volleyball forever. So, during those times I tried to find myself without it revolving my life anymore, I figured out I had wonderful things I aspired to become. I had always wanted to try creative writing, and _look_ , I’ve finished my degree and I’ll be soon, _hopefully_ , publishing a book. I’m a part-time English teacher at a well-known university with a decent salary, and so far I think I’m having a great bachelor life.” He nods, not sure why he feels like he’s persuading himself. It’s not a lie that his life has come far than what he had expected it to become when he had always thought breaking his own knee was where everything started to go downhill.

“But you see, as I mentioned the _partly_ part, it’s because not everything heals with time. A knee can heal, broken dreams can be mended, but there are certain things that should be left their way.”

Oikawa takes a second to watch Yahaba tilt his head in consideration, and then deliberation, and then pondering, and then he continues:

“There are some things that go along with you no matter how not a speck of your surroundings reminds you of them, no matter the pain that makes you want to forget, no matter how far you’re away from the origin of it. As I’ve come to grow older, never the wiser despite thinking so, I always ask myself, just how long do I have to wait?”  _For all of it to settle and go._ Oikawa pronounces those words just as how as it goes in his head in his train of 3 AM thoughts, ever curious and patient but dreading. With the same fond smile, he shakes his head knowing he will _only_ and _always_ get to the same response over again.

“The thing about time, even with how endless it seems, there are things that walk along with the seconds. While some are forgotten, there are parts that remain stuck on the hand of the clock as it ticks forward in time and they never tire,” he says with such voice that combats the likes of _never tire._ “Sometimes you catch yourself thinking about the past and the possibilities, the  _what if_ s, and you tell yourself you don’t know why, but subconsciously, at the same time, _you do_. You just don't want to play the blame game when you are actually holding on to something.” He says it a matter-of-factly as if he isn’t reproaching himself—or forcing those facts down his throat like aspirin. It’s bitter on his tongue, but he swallows, _acknowledges_ _it_ , and thinks maybe the illness he feels might subside a little.

“So I realized, _hey_ , I don’t have to pretend, I don’t have to wait,” he wistfully chuckles. “Because it's _always_ going to be there.”

A mix of curiosity, undeniable pensiveness, a modest bliss, _years and years of longing_ —he wears his heart on his sleeves. Yahaba guesses maybe anyone can hold millions of expressions this brave, only when they have been used to wearing them in all the years. Oikawa must be a walking old soul.

Next, Yahaba thinks of the prime cause.

 _Pain_ , a passing thought occurs. Aged up— so long until it had turned into an old scab, and when an old scab is scuffed, it brings both pain and pleasure.

But maybe pain is a bold word. Maybe it's _waiting_ , maybe it's _holding on_ , maybe it's _endurance_.

“If you don’t mind, sensei, can I ask what this person is to you? Like, what your relation is to him...”

“Ah, he was my best friend. Also,” Oikawa falters, as if to contemplate something, but then he’s been expecting this, has been answering the same question throughout the years, verbally and mentally. There’s no reason for him to waver, no reason to deny something that isn’t wrong.

At this, he smiles. “First love.”

“Ah,” Yahaba drones as realization dawns on him. The grip on his camera tightens when he asks a maybe too probing question for comfort, but he’s curious to how much Oikawa can provoke feelings than he minds with tact.

“D’you... miss him?”

“Yeah,” he answers almost on impulse, nods with so much sincerity, with honest admittance, as if he’s always been aching to say it every day. “Always.”

 

 

**

 

 

The sunset is more breathtaking in autumn. It’s warmer and despite the leaves falling, there’s beauty in witnessing the earth in vermillion and coffee under its radiance. Maybe that’s why he feels lighter today, or ever since the first leaf fell, and remembers that he’s been in love with autumn ever since.

_“Say, Oikawa-sensei. I don’t say this and I think I never had. I also don't think I’m in the right position to do so, but I believe you and him will cross paths again. What you said, I think the truth of it will never fade. He will always be there.”_

Those words have been ringing in his head for hours, and believes in the sentiment for the world is small. Miyagi is small even if he complained about long bus rides during school field trips.

Three steps forward and he swerves in a corner, almost in collision with someone. He looks up, sorry, and the apology dies in his lips when he thinks he might be in a dream.

But he is not in a dream, because the world is small enough that he found Kuroo Tetsurou in Adelaide. Miyagi will never be different when he finds _him_ there.

Oikawa remembers being in love with autumn ever since, and thinks about falling in love in autumn all over again. The feeling feels like winter in his skin but the backs of his eyes are the summer heat.

“Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi, five years older, stands before him and is just as frozen as he is. He’s wearing that kind of face that says he’s been looking for him for years and Oikawa unwillingly feels that relief for him. The grounds under his feet seem to disappear, because he doesn’t know who moved first, or who’s arms were around the other first, but he keeps himself from floating with the weight that ties him to earth.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says with a bubble of laughter in his mouth. His hands suspend awkwardly before it rests on his shoulder. They're warm. “You came home.”

“Iwa-chan…” is all that he utters to him, for the first time in five years.

Iwaizumi shows a relieved face as he talks. It’s the same thing Oikawa feels as if realizing that this is not a dream after all. “How are you?”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t cry, despite how his eyelids tickle, because as much as Iwaizumi had told him he’s welcome to do so when he’s around, five years had passed and things had changed in some ways.

“I—I’m,” he stumbles on his words. His throat clogs and it hurts to the point that he’s panicking whether he’ll run out of air or sob. “Fine—good. I’m fine and—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Iwaizumi placates him with a smile, very subtle hand gestures, and tries. “Are you busy? We can go for a quick catch up in a nearby restaurant.”

Oikawa distinctly remembers about a painful stack of test papers on his dining table he has yet to correct and he decides _yes_ , even so. Because despite all odds, he will always lend his time for Iwaizumi Hajime even after five years.

“No,” he lies. “I’m not busy.”

“That’s good.” Iwaizumi nods albeit a bit unsure but smiles just a little too vivid for Oikawa to all but forget that he’s capable of doing so. It makes his heart twinge in fondness. “I have to quickly submit some papers. Can you wait for me?”

”Yeah,” he says. _Always_ , he thinks.

Oikawa takes a breather once Iwaizumi is out of view, palm held up to his heart to make sure it didn’t dissolve from beating too hard. His face scrunches briefly and he wills himself not to break down out of the confines of his room. He viciously rubs the residual moist in his eyes and decides, gets up, _too quick_ , to square himself up.

He’s ran his imagination wild and thought of several scenarios that foreshadow their meeting—the casual greeting of _how are you_ s like a bunch of strangers, plenty of surprised yelling and hugging for long-time friends, or maybe tearful _I miss you_ s for people with unsaid feelings. _Never the stuttering_. It was never supposed to be stuttering and having an internal breakdown. Never with the tears left unshed. His heart has always been dwelling heavy on the third one, but he at least expects for the second option to happen.

Iwaizumi comes back quickly, smiles when he sees Oikawa still there— _does he always smile a lot these days?—_ and Oikawa shies away like it’s the first day of daycare. He remembers being in the middle of fixing himself and stands erect; Iwaizumi stares at him at the change of attitude. _Very perceptive_.

“It’s pretty near. We can walk all the way there if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. I mean, I walk myself home every single day so,” he shrugs, pulling his messenger bag securely.

Iwaizumi confusingly looks at him and Oikawa’s gaze zeroes on the scrunch between his eyebrows. It has become more prominent now. “Do you not take the train?”

“Oh, no. My apartment is only a few blocks away.”

“Ah.” Iwaizumi nods and looks away. Oikawa firms his lips and they stay that way for a couple of steps. It’s hard to decide whether the atmosphere feels comfortable or suffocating because he feels both at the same moment.

“How is Iwa-chan?” he asks carefully, tentative as he gazes at him—his heart always skips a beat that way. He realizes they’re likely of the same height now and his own subconscious grimaces at the finding.

“I’m good.” Iwaizumi shrugs, not looking back, and Oikawa thinks, _of course._ “Got the job as a Psychology teacher last year.”

“I see.” He only nods, despite the running questions he has in mind. They stay that way again, silent and throwing quiet smiles until they get to a restaurant he remembers from their teenage days.

Iwaizumi looks at him, knowing, and Oikawa stops to take the place in, just laughs, hearty and without pretense. _So, he remembers._

“One _shoyu_ , please,” Iwaizumi says as they chime in and in greeting to the same old face, a middle aged man who’s grown older by the years. The signature white bandana is still dressed around his head. “And _tonkotsu_ for him. Extra pork.”

Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi, five years forward, now ever confident, ever breezy, as he exchanges greetings with the workers. He must be a regular here.

“Would you also like extra boiled egg for that?”

Oikawa briefly looks at Iwaizumi, who’s still talking to the owner’s wife, and guesses  the question might be directed at him. He points to himself and the man nods with a smirk. _Perhaps Miyagi hasn’t changed at all_ , he thinks before giving a polite bow and saying, “Yes, please.”

 

 

“How long has it been?” He asks when they’re both seated, hot familiar steam from their bowls cradling their faces. “Five years?”

“Five years, six months, eleven days,” Iwaizumi answers simply as he begins to mix his ramen and Oikawa is stunned to silence.

His mind wanders on its own, particularly on the thought that Iwaizumi counted the days every day. He wants to impose the rising hope that he might have thought of him all along, and decides with it because indulgence is luxury not everyone can pay for.

He might have forgotten that Iwaizumi dislikes soft boiled eggs, because his chest jumps at the sight of him giving Oikawa his own share. In his way of refunding, he takes a slice of pork off Oikawa’s bowl. _Like the usual_ , _just like five years ago, and even before that._ Oikawa dumbly stares at everything. “I see you’re teaching in Tohokudai as well.”

 “Ah,” he startles, beginning to down his noodles. “As an English Literature teacher.”

“Figures. Since when?”

“I got the job just on the second semester.”

“So, you’ve been home for more than a month?” It doesn’t sound like a question, because other things are far more worth questioning.

_Why didn’t you tell me? Why were you only home now?_

Oikawa winces and Iwaizumi must have noticed it because he doesn’t prod his inquisition more.

“I sent you back a letter before I got home,” he says guiltily because he knows he’s an ass for writing back after several that were sent to him. “I think you didn’t receive it.”

“I moved out of Tokyo more than a year ago, Oikawa. That’s why I didn’t.”

The tone he makes clenches Oikawa’s gut. “Are you… mad that I didn’t tell you?”

 _It’s just ironic_ , he thinks, how he’s written a million pieces for him and never gutted on sending one back.

“No,” Iwaizumi mutters, looking straight at him, never faltering. Always the confident Iwa-chan he knows. “Not anymore, I guess. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Oikawa’s cheeks burn aflame, and he thinks no matter how he’s grown up or willed himself into controlling instantaneous reactions, some things are just out of his own management. He smiles at Iwaizumi—it says _I’m glad you’re here, too_ , and he hopes the message will get through.

 _Of course it will_ , his subconscious supports him and the speculation is confirmed when Iwaizumi takes another pork slice of his unattended ramen bowl. Oikawa attempts to take revenge and notices Iwaizumi’s toppings no longer there. He only snickers at him—voice deeper than he can remember, stance manlier, and ever so handsome.

Oikawa just hate how his heart stings so much he can’t even properly smile back.

 

Iwaizumi, in the span of five years, surely has changed into a man Oikawa had expected him to be. He’s grown taller—he probably catches up to his height, probably still a few millimeters shorter than him. His hair went a quite longer, and yet, not enough to cover his huge forehead. He became a bit more _refined_  than he remembers—smile just a little warmer, eyes a little kinder, a little heart-clenching. His shoulders grew broader and Oikawa idly speculates if they still have the same warmth. _Maybe even warmer?_ He wonders if Iwa-chan has someone else who leans onto them.

Iwaizumi offers to walk him home, and even if Oikawa had told him he shouldn’t have bothered, he still hoped he’d be adamant on it. He’s resilient, stubborn, and Oikawa is glad he was.

Oikawa concludes that he might have changed as well, after all, and that he perhaps doesn't have the same heart as he did before, because seeing Iwaizumi Hajime in the flesh, after years of wondering of _how have you been_ s, only broadens the twinge in his chest. It’s tight, familiar, and very old. It's sore but it is something he’s known as he’s aged over the years. Distance really _can_ make the heart grow fonder.

The gnawing climbs up his throat like bile and he can only make out a poorly executed smile as it forces its way up to his lips. He can't even pretend anymore, there is so much going on in his mind and in his stomach to even maneuver the wistfulness that helplessly show in his eyes. He wishes Iwaizumi doesn't so often have to look at him, so he can at least have a spare second to toughen his heart.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi questions softly. _Since when had he ever sounded and looked so gentle?_ “You okay?”

“Mm,” he gives a noncommittal hum but a small reassuring smile. He hopes all this façade will somehow give away, because his hands are shaking and he can't control them for some stupid reason. He was a master at all of this, so why can't he do it in such a critical moment?

To his dismay, though, Iwaizumi must have noticed this because he then asks if he is cold.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fists them tight. “I’m good, Iwa-chan.”

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi mutters as he begins to take his blazer off. Oikawa startles and feels his heart ricochet out to the night sky and back down hard to his stomach. There is a vague sense of belonging in that old _endearment_ alone and he feels as if something has tickled the closet of nearly forgotten mementos back to life. Iwaizumi drapes his slightly large blazer on his cold shoulders and fixes it with a rather vexed but focused expression. It almost feels like five years ago. “Tell me that when you're not shaking like a drenched rat, Shittykawa.”

And as Iwaizumi's coat engulfs him in such acquainted warmth, Oikawa hunches a little as if it has always been natural. _Always just like this, as natural as breathing air_. He feels the backs of his neck and eyes burn as he comes up-close with his face—it almost makes him laugh how Iwa-chan still has that _distinct scrunch_ between his eyebrows, but then again, it has always been permanent, _like everything_ , or so he hopes. This is nothing like the ones he saw on his laptop screen years ago when they had still kept in touch, and it overwhelms him how he misses seeing him in person, where his warmth is only felt when he's a shoulder away.

Iwaizumi stares back at him and Oikawa basks in it as slow and as indulgent as the ticking of the clock. He sees how Iwaizumi’s eyes melt into something he can't quite comprehend, and it hurts somewhere. And with the proximity of their faces, Oikawa doesn't even gasp or back away or avoid all kinds of potential danger, instead, he welcomes the whole new ache in his heart—it’s something he had readied over the course of time enough to occupy an empty chamber he’d prepared himself.

“Iwa-chan, I—” he sputters but soon firms his lips close when he feels an uncomfortable vibration in his throat. Iwaizumi waits for him patiently,  _just like always_ , eyes silently prodding him to go on. Oikawa's nose flares as he lets out a shaky breath and with all his will, he tries to muster a smile that he hopes to be just ordinary. He thinks it came out apologetic instead. “—I'm sorry but... can I hug you, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi stares at him impassively and then lets out a wet laugh before he's pulling him by the waist. Oikawa is out of words.

“You don't have to ask." _You don't have to be sorry._ "You idiot.”

And Oikawa doesn't waste time and grabs all the chance he can get, because chances are just phases—he wraps his arms around his shoulders and embraces him like he's his last grace. He realizes he's still the same Iwaizumi Hajime he was and felt before—strong arms, reliable shoulders, warm skin, comforting scent—and he is glad he's still got something _very Iwa-chan_ left in him no matter how much he thinks he's changed.

When he feels a hand cradle the back of his head, tousle his brown locks, _like always_ , Oikawa’s heart wilts and free-falls like autumn leaves. He buries his nose to Iwaizumi's shoulder that smells and feels like an old childhood comforter.

_I miss you._

Iwaizumi laughs when Oikawa tightens his hold around him, and lifts him off the ground by a few inches.

“Iwa-chan—wait!” Oikawa shrieks, startled and rather amused. He feels as if his heart is about to burst. “I’m heavy!”

“Just because I'm older doesn't mean I haven't been maintaining my body. Don't test me, Oikawa.” And to really test that, he lifts him even higher and begins twirling him around like they're the only people in this secluded alley granted by a mere lamp post. Oikawa laughs like he hasn't had in ages—because it's embarrassing, it takes him to surprise, and it makes his heart soar—Iwaizumi _makes sure_ of that just before he settles him back to the ground.

Oikawa's all dazed when he pulls back and looks at him, the mist of those tears now becoming like the night stars. Despite the overwhelming shock, he's still got a huge portion of happiness in him and he thinks it's funny how Iwaizumi and the thoughts of him have caused all kinds of contrasts of his feelings.

He's smiling that wonderful smile he wants to kiss, but Oikawa will dismiss that as of tonight, because he needs to conquer this moment and embed it to the folds of his brain. There's no doubt the certain twinkle in Iwaizumi’s eyes says that he's missed him, too, and for once, Oikawa feels a sense of triumph that he's finally gotten his eyes on him even for only a passing moment.

“Welcome home.”

Oikawa sees it all in him—the reason why he’s never made to wander off too far. He sees it in that warm smile, those broad shoulders, the strong hand on his back, those kind eyes. He sees the reason as to why he always visits old thoughts, long-forgotten memories and familiar places he never really knew existed. It’s like dozing off the moment the sun comes down, not because he’s obliged to sleep, but because it's embedded in his nature forever. _A subconscious_.

He sees it all in him, as if his feet just had a mind of their own and, no matter the distance, took him to where he truly belongs.

“I’m home.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 409 }_

_Today, I met you after five years. It was just as memorable as those days before._

 

 

**

 

 

The warmth of the artificial heater in the cafeteria is perfect for dousing the outdoor chill, and as Oikawa enters through the glass doors, the form of Iwaizumi’s back is still as familiar as before. It’s the second time he’s seen him in a week, and he’s ogling at his slumped, firm posture that he’s always liked to look at. Even in five years’ time, Oikawa likes to think that although they are to meet now instead of yesterday and that somehow his physique has gotten more mature like time, he would still confidently know it’s him.

Oikawa approaches him in tentative steps, gait very unlike him, and finds out he’s talking to a colleague. Oikawa comprehends that maybe as he’s now back in Japan, memories from before slowly start coming in and reminding him things. Amaya, with her longer hair and formal uniform sits in front of Iwaizumi.

Oikawa plans on brushing it off, holding on to a mantra that he’s not in control of things so he must not be upset, but the both of them have turned their heads to him and he’s locking eyes with Iwaizumi.

He opts on the most casual greeting, just similar to saying _hello_ to acquaintances by giving them a slight bow and a silent, polite smile to boot. Amaya must still have recognized him because she smiles back with an air different than her usual calm demeanor, and Oikawa takes the cue to exit and find a table alone on the far left.

Oikawa guesses they’re still together, and even if his heart caves in, still, he scolds himself for yielding when he’s supposed to hold things in tact. It’s no wonder unsaid words are left to halt because some things are avoiding it from spilling. He eats a hearty meal nonetheless, because as expected _Tohokudai_ will always have the best food and provide the biggest portions.

As he wolfs down a chunk of tofu, a figure situates themselves in front of him and he pauses upon seeing who it is.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets him a bit breathlessly. Oikawa subtly notes an olive envelope clamped in his hand.

With his mouth packed with food, he is unable to say something and instead does a slight nod of the head while he stares at him. He feels rather stupid.

“You look stupid,” Iwaizumi verbalizes it, tone and face blank, and Oikawa gulps his food fast to retaliate.

“Wow, such words for a 24-year old man.”

“Quit eating like you’re gonna run out of food, then.”

Someone coughs from beside them and upon seeing, they realize they’re looking to the dean from one of the Engineering departments and profusely apologize.

“Iwa-chan, did you only come here to mother me?” he teases playfully.

“What.”

“I was kidding,” he mutters, looking down at his food and suddenly feeling a bit awkward. When he glances back up, Iwaizumi is staring at him like he’s waiting for him to finish. “Have you had lunch?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Oh, um,” he drones, picking on his vegetables while he burns under Iwaizumi’s gaze. “What’s up?”

“Ah, I had something to forward to you.”

He blinks, trailing his eyes back at him. “Is it important?”

“Depends on how you’ll take it. You know Amaya, right?”

And out of the blue, something drops heavy in Oikawa’s stomach upon the mention of an old subject he’s been discreetly avoiding about to be discussed on. He only hopes how he looks doesn’t give away to what he feels. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “How could I forget?”

Somehow, he catches a glimpse of Iwaizumi’s eyes softening, but like a defense mechanism, he forces himself not to linger on that.

“She’s getting married,” he carefully says and slips the olive green envelope across the table. “She wanted to give you this.”

Oikawa is a little perplexed at the announcement but nonetheless tentatively accepts the envelope. “Really?” He hasn’t opened it yet when he asks him, “to whom?”

“Do you remember Hiroya?” Again, he vaguely remembers of a name but always can’t get a grip on it. “That tall kid way back in college that always tagged with us,” Iwaizumi adds.

“Ah,” Oikawa nods, still stunned. “Yeah, that kid. I thought you were together?”

Iwaizumi looks rather attacked. “Hiroya?”

“No, no. Amaya,” Oikawa corrects but Iwaizumi just shakes his head, laughing like it’s a bad joke.

“No, we weren’t together. We’re just good friends.”

“Oh,” Oikawa can only stammer upon this. The relief he feels silently crashes onto him like gentle waves in the night. _What_ , he glares at his empty rice bowl as if pretending to look for an answer. He realizes that it’s an idiotic sight, so he resorts on finally opening the invitation and reading it over.

Even such color reminds him of two earthy eyes.

“Did you really think we were together?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously.

“I can’t help it.” He only chuckles, feeling a bit embarrassed but he proceeds going through the gold printed words. “December 25? This is seriously cheesy.”

“Trust me when the groom did most all of the planning.”

“Cute,” Oikawa comments, tucking the card back into its envelope. When he catches Iwaizumi’s eyes falling on him once again, his heart skips pleasantly painful beat and he takes the opportunity to ask him. “We should go shop for suits, Iwa-chan.”

“Are you single?” Iwaizumi blurts out instead but his face shows no signs of joking.

Oikawa is surprised by the attitude and almost elbows a glass of water. “Y-yes?” he stutters.

“That’s… good.” Iwaizumi awkwardly chuckles, and the rest he’s saying, he quietly hisses them. “Ah, why did I ask that…” Oikawa hears him mutter and while the Iwaizumi buries half his face into his hand, Oikawa can notice the strong red blooming in his ears. He feels heat creep up to his neck as well.

He thanks the heavens for whatever the current time on the wall clock is, but it’s a saving grace, indicating that it’s almost due for the next class. However, as Oikawa is about to announce his leave, they both stand up in unison. He doesn’t just stand up, his knees even cave in and it makes him almost buckle to the floor if not for the swift hand steadying him by his hip.

It’s a little awkward being this close with him after a long time, and in this moment, he remembers the kiss, a vivid memory way back five years ago and steps back outside his own awareness. Iwaizumi takes the hint to release his grip but he doesn’t shy away.

“Oikawa, are you free on Saturday?” he pushes through.

“What?” he sputters again, feeling dense with his head on a muddle. He knows it’s a normal matter for them, or _was_ years ago, but he swears he’s behaving like a high schooler.

“Saturday,” Iwaizumi slowly tries again. “Do you have any plans?”

 _Oh._ “I don’t. Why?”

“I have tickets for a Star Wars movie. Let’s go.”

There’s something in Iwaizumi’s confidence, the so-called _best friend’s confidence_ , that makes him laugh, not in sarcasm but in wholesomeness, because he doesn’t know why it feels as if they were not separated at all, and as if time did not pass by.

“I didn’t even say yes?” he titters. “How dare you be so forward about this?”

“Because it’s Star Wars,” Iwaizumi snorts, as matter of fact. “So, what do you think? Yes?”

“Wow, Iwa-chan, seriously? You haven’t changed at all,” he chimes mockingly with a hint of amusement. Oikawa figures out that maybe, a part of him hasn’t really changed as well, because with all of Iwaizumi Hajime’s whims, he’ll always give in to them the way he gives in to his. “Yes.”

 

Iwaizumi walks Oikawa home after their movie night-out finishes at seven. It’s a short trip from the cinema but Oikawa can feel himself limping with every step. Iwaizumi immediately notices this and tries to help him as careful and as quiet as possible. He silently thanks him for doing the latter because he’s somewhat not in the mood to be nagged on, yet no matter how grumpy he is, Iwaizumi’s warm presence pressed to his side makes him feel at ease.

It’s the first time he’s visited his apartment, and as they get to the main room, the first thing he comments is:

“This reminds me of our apartment back then.”

Oikawa knows it was intentional for him to adorn his home in accents of turquoise and apricot.

“I grew to love the colors,” he tells him, plopping on the couch while observing Iwaizumi observing his residence. “Does Iwa-chan want something to drink?”

“I’m good,” Iwaizumi tells him before he looks at him with evident worry. “How’s your knee?”

“Yeah,” he answers distantly, picking on a lose thread on the arm of his couch. He doesn’t entirely avoid it, because he knows they’re both going down to this matter before one of them leaves for the night. “I’m scheduling a surgery very soon. It’s been sort of a long time that I’ve been preparing to do this, not for volleyball but for myself. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

The relief on Iwaizumi’s face is like watching the ocean waves calmly crashing the shore. “Good to hear. I’m just a call away if you ever need help.”

“Of course.” Oikawa nods. _Because you’re always there, right?_

Iwaizumi softly smiles at him, heart-wrenching, as if he understands what he tries conveying. “Yeah.”

 

 

**

 

 

“Say, Iwa-chan… if the black hole absorbs all matters of the universe then does that mean it’s making its own universe out of what it’s absorbing?”

“You’re still a space nerd up until now, aren’t you?”

Oikawa doesn’t know what he has with Iwaizumi right now is. It feels like it’s only yesterday when they were too close for comfort, intimate in all ways, and filter-free in conversing. It’s like going back to high school all over again and he finds it amazing how nothing altered, not even feelings—aged up but still fresh like the breeze of his first day of high school. Perhaps some things are bound to not change.

Twenty-four in present, Oikawa falls in love again and he’s lost count the times he felt afresh only to appraise how many days until he will wilt and fall out of love. Somewhere in the deepest of his chest, the perpetually sore torsion feels oddly warm and known and it’s hard to ignore, not when he unknowingly welcomes it with keenness. He doesn’t know how long this current bliss will last but he’s glad—happy that they’re together again even with the throbbing hole in his heart that needs thorough binding and filling up. Neither does he know what will come out of this, whether this  _whatever they have_  will pursue on its own or will only be left alone hanging and untouched like before. He decides the flow is up to how Iwaizumi will drive them and he's just to follow him. No matter what, Oikawa commits to himself, no matter where the river flows, he’ll take whichever path is given to him with willed acceptance.

A fond smile grazes up his face. If ever anything doesn’t go his way, well, perhaps he wouldn’t mind hurting again.

 

“Do you believe in parallel worlds, Iwa-chan?”

It doesn’t take Iwaizumi a pause to say “Yeah.”

“Really now?” Oikawa ribs but he’s even amused himself. “How so?"

“As I grow older, I’ve started to list the things I wasn’t able to do or pursue,” Iwaizumi replies and with the words he’s saying, they are just as familiar as in Oikawa’s own tongue. “And like what you said before, thinking about how they all happened in different universes makes me feel a bit better." He smiles at this and Oikawa can’t help but mirror the gesture. “But also, I began to theorize something about parallel worlds."

"Ah, Iwa-chan, are you finally becoming a fantasy nerd as well? It seems like I’ve wiped my influence on you,” he taunts good-naturedly, pulling both his gangly legs to his chest. “I’ll hear you out, then."

As he waits for Iwaizumi in patience, it had taken a whole minute before he begins getting into it. Iwaizumi reclines back on his seat and sets his head up to the sky like he’s looking for something but very unwearyingly. “You know, Oikawa,” he starts. “I just feel like—don't you feel like there’s this common denominator for people in all worlds?" he tells him and goosebumps rise in Oikawa’s skin because he knows he has well heard this before. “Take for example, _you_. You wouldn’t be Oikawa if you weren’t an obnoxious asshole, meaning, all the _Oikawas_ in all different worlds are obnoxious assholes.”

“Wow," Oikawa exhales, trying to sound flat but his own anticipation only transcends it. “That’s a really rude way to hypothesize me.”

“Exactly how it is. Besides it was just a hypothesis.”

All these say about the _common denominator_ , even if people like Kuroo and Iwaizumi hadn’t named it, Oikawa would still have thought such things exist in the stretch of the universe. If chances had worked this way for him—to be someone’s childhood neighbor, to be someone’s long-time best friend, and to love someone—then the world must be too small for him to be this favored. He curls himself up, leans sideways against the car seat, and looks at this _someone_. “What suddenly made you think that?”

Iwaizumi only shrugs but there’s this enigmatic smile ghosting from his side profile as he readjusts on his seat. “I actually don’t know. It just sort of stemmed out of nowhere. Probably from too much thinking," he hums, seeming lost in thought, eyes unblinking and all glued towards Miyagi’s man-made stars that are its city lights. “Because as I ponder more about possibilities of parallel worlds, it’s like I somehow feel a strange sense of comfort, too. Say, if we knew each other in all worlds, that would be the common denominator for Iwaizumi Hajime—he’s Oikawa Tooru's best friend…” And as Iwaizumi utters the ending words, Oikawa only thinks nothing but, _indeed, you really are Iwaizumi Hajime._

“That’s what makes him _him_.”

 

 

**

 

 

“Ah.”

“What’s that ‘ah’ for? I reckon you don’t want me here.” Hanamaki welcomes himself without an owner’s permission, grumbling with his hands tucked in tightly into the confines of warm clothes and shoes toed into the _genkan._

“I wasn’t expecting anyone today,” Oikawa says, nose pointed up in rebuttal and leads him to the living room—he chooses not to question his friend’s spontaneous arrival yet. “Do you want tea? I only have oolong and peppermint.”

“Sure you were not because he’s always been coming here unannounced.” Hanamaki pointedly ignores the questions, debunks courtesies all at once, and avoids beating around the bushes. They are both aware who that _he_ is but for the sake of being haphazard about it, Oikawa asks anyway.

“ _He_?”

Hanamaki throws him a knowing look and he instantly diverts his gaze somewhere. “What’s with you? You look like shit.”

“What’s with _you_?” Oikawa asks back, feeling rather genuinely attacked from the question alone and the whole intervention as well. “You’re being extra mean today. I don’t need any more _Iwa-chans_ nagging me around.”

“But you don’t mind that, do you?” It’s more like a declaration than a question; Hanamaki lets himself get comfortable onto Oikawa’s couch and Oikawa follows suit. He doesn’t know why he feels like a stranger in his own house and the nerves unknowingly start building up when the other fixes his gaze on him and says, “I’m gonna go straight to the point, okay?”

“Since you’re so keen on doing so anyway, well…” Oikawa prods on, pretends that his insides are not slowly eating him up by chances of inevitable inquiries, and distracts such thoughts by examining his nails. “What’s up?”

“So, are you two _finally_ together?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Hanamaki laughs, sardonic. _The audacity_. “Unbelievable.”

“Wow,” Oikawa wheezes, voice just as mocking. “Thanks.”

He had expected this—had expected places that will put him into awkwardness or heart-wrenching tendencies that will keep his mind at night—but five years to more than a decade and the empty feeling in his stomach’s still right where it is, like the redundant questions hanging in the air.

_When?_

_Why?_

Oikawa can only shrug with a helpless smile. “Who knows?”

Hanamaki studies him, and he’s got that face where he’s lost in forming thoughts—

— because really, _who knows?_ Maybe such questions are not meant to be answered and instead be left wondered upon like myths and histories.

“ _Because even in circumstances you’re involved into, you can’t always be the one to drive a situation. Sometimes you just gotta have to sit back, observe, and consider the signs_ , is what you were meaning to say. You told me that _years_ ago, a handful of times, but what I’m really asking is,” Hanamaki breathes in and waves his hands around—more or less, he reminds him of a university Iwaizumi in the midst of making his thesis—frustrated at the issues left unanswered. He hadn’t seen him during that state, of course, but it’s quite imaginable. “How long are you gonna wait?”

And like his 3AM thoughts, it rings clear in his head—

_How long do I have to wait?_

—and as well as the accustomed familiarity, the answer meets his subconscious, and tells him it.

“I don’t have to wait, I guess.” It’s easy to slip a lie from his own tongue when he’s done such thing all throughout, because if there’s something he’s been patient at doing, it’s _waiting_ itself. Perhaps the feeling of not being exhausted just yet is what convinces him it’s not waiting. “What’s there is there; what’s to occur will occur. It’s just letting things be.”

“Are you not gonna try at least? Make the first move, Oikawa.”

“I did. Dropped some hints, wrote a book, consumed a million papers—” Oikawa’s eyes train to a five-year old cactus just sitting by his window pane and subtly remembers how laborious the process was to take care of it in winters and by the years—but through many seasons, his efforts always seem to triumph. He thinks just how rewarding it would be if it applied the same to some things. “—but they were not enough.”

It quiets Hanamaki and Oikawa feels a sense of pride swelling as much as how his chest does.

 “Perhaps you should tell it to him directly, you know? We all know how dense he becomes.”

“But he’s not dense when it comes to _me_. I’m his best friend after all.” Oikawa palms his chest, eyes bright and deadly as he refers to himself. “He knows. _He knows_ even when I was ready for Australia, he knows that I wanted him to beg for me to stay, but he didn’t. He knows what contains in my journals and he still asks what they’re about. So, what do I gain in doing it directly?” _Nothing matters_ , or so it says. Coincidentally so, they both sigh in unison but it might be a little harder on Oikawa’s part with a growing boulder jamming his throat. “And what’s with you nosing into my love life anyway? Is Mattsun not enough for you?”

“You know, Oikawa, he’s been antsy since you came home… and that’s like, for two months.”

“Who?”

“Iwaizumi.”

“Oh.” Oikawa gulps, and ignores the bubbling anticipation in his stomach, crushes it with what’s left in his sane head. “That’s just Iwa-chan.”

“Fuck,” Hanamaki mutters. “How long has it been?”

“How long is what?”

“Fuck,” he curses again, breath seething through gritted teeth. “Eight years, more than that?”

“It’s fine as long as I’m not hurting anyone, _geez_.” It’s so easy just pretending that the fact alone isn’t eating him up, so he leans back, crosses his arms, and dismisses it like it’s nothing. “You’re acting like I’m a convict that’s been running from a serious felony for a decade.”

“It’s kind of like it though.”

“I’m not even doing anything!”

“But really, Oikawa,” Hanamaki’s tone goes from playful to serious and looks at him with slight concern. “I don’t wanna confirm and decide for anything but, seriously, _really_ , I feel that there’s something.”

“I feel that _something_ , too, Makki.” Oikawa smirks just to mask something and hopes his show will last him for seconds. “High school, first year in university, even when I was in Australia. It’s just disappointing that he’s always so unsure about it, so might as well think that it doesn’t exist at all. Ninety-nine percent doesn’t always mean it’s sure after all. Hell, even being the best can throw you to second place,” he states a-matter-of-factly, but until now the notion still consumes him whole. “I wasn’t always the best at volleyball, and I know I am shameless for admitting this, but I was always sure I’d be the best for him,” he huffs a laugh but what he thinks what comes out is something uncalled for instead. “Always number one, _Oikawa_ _Tooru_ , because he told me I wore what I was: _number one_.”

“He’s said that before. I know it. Our last spring tournament.” A smile appears on Hanamaki’s face, remembering a fond memory, and rests his elbows on both knees. “I just, you know, think you gotta stop romanticizing your platonic love bullshit and have some for yourself. What if you’re not second best anymore?”

“Who knows, right?” he lilts scathingly. “Within those 5 years, I might have probably dropped to tenth.”

“You really are something…”

“Are you gonna help me force that out of him, then?” Oikawa retorts sarcastically.

“You don’t have to force it out if it’s there already.”

A tic suddenly appears on his forehead, and he tries laughing that off. “Fuck that. It’s rude to give someone hope, you know? That’s an asshole move, Makki.”

“And yet you never call him an asshole.”

“Because he’s fucking special!” Oikawa blurts out, like taunting like he’s chosen to confess something that’s unavoidably going to get known somehow. His lips tremble in such a dangerous warning so he mashes them together with a force that will potentially sliver his skin. “Fine. He’s so damn special that he exempts any ill behavior I have towards anyone, because he’s _Iwa-chan_! He’s only Iwa-chan who I don’t mind giving everything to as long as he deserves it. No returns, no exchanges.”

“What are you, fucking _Santa Claus_? Is it Christmas?”

“Merry Christmas!” he yells because he’s annoyed.

“Fuck this,” Hanamaki seethes frustratingly.

“Because you asked me before how things would be if he gave me a chance, and I said I wouldn’t mind hurting again. I’ve put a brief thought into it, just a brief one—it doesn’t take me a long realizing that I really don’t mind hurting over and over, because whenever I see him, or think of him, it always hurts somewhere.”

Hanamaki has never seen him so pent up like this, and he feels rather accomplished in triggering into letting his emotions out, because he knows that will make him a little better. He knows it only has a little effect because Oikawa has let him know what he’s been feeling all along for so long verbally and even with his silence.

Hanamaki doesn’t say anything because he will rather not prefer offering some empty words when he knows they will only make him feel worse.

There’s a click on the door and he’s ready to snatch and throw Oikawa’s guiltless vase from his center table. The intruder comes in and all speculations drop when he only sees Iwaizumi by the doorway.

“Fuck,” he hisses and glances at Oikawa who’s in the middle of figuring out how to look dismissive. He fails at it.

“Why?” Iwaizumi, instead, is the one who looks like a dear in the headlights. He innocently toes his shoes off properly. “Did I come on a wrong time?”

“No, no,” Oikawa reassures like nothing happened, mood changing to a hundred and eighty-degree turn, and standing up to welcome him. Just like that, he s succeeds in brushing the mood off physically. “Makki was about to leave anyway,” he emphasizes on the words while throwing him a pointed look. “Right?”

“That sucks. I just arrived.”

Oikawa makes a half-assed shrug. “Too bad.”

“Whatever.” Hanamaki scoffs, shrugging his coat on and trudging past them. As he reaches by the door, he gives his final words before shutting it completely. “You guys have fun figuring things out and text me how it goes! I’m leaving.”

Iwaizumi is only left to wondering, and he stands there with his sweats and a bag of DVDs to binge-watch in hand, seeming flabbergasted at the situation. “What did he mean by that?”

“No idea.” Oikawa raises his palms up to look guiltless, but it’s difficult putting up an act when he hasn’t even stitched up his own defenselessness before Iwaizumi came. He figures out the residual melancholy on face gives away, but he pushes through, nonetheless. “He probably misses us or something. I’m starting to think if he’s secretly the mom in this group,” he feigns a sigh but it comes out genuine, and then he has a hand around his arm.

“Is everything okay?” Iwaizumi frowns.

“No,” he admits but then throws the question back at him. “Is everything okay for you? Not, right? There’s gotta be somewhere that’s not okay. In my case, some things are not okay, but I feel fine.”

When Iwaizumi studies him, unable to speak for something, Oikawa knows he’s said the right thing. He smiles, and uses the chance to teasingly poke on the crease between Iwaizumi’s eyebrows.

“You worry too much,” he teases, chuckling. “We’re not getting any younger.”

“Yet you’re making me feel old.” Iwaizumi snatches the finger on his forehead and holds it down for a while right there. “Don’t make me worry.”

Oikawa is unabashed when he faces him in the eye, devoid of brazenness when he’s drowned into memorizing the apparent freckles above his cheeks. Upon this, Iwaizumi smiles at him, that one that tells him he’s _right there_ , and Oikawa does the same with the same genuineness he can manage. And while he does this, he cries out of the blue.

“ _Really_ , don’t mind me. You know how I am when people ask me these things,” Oikawa tells him against the pad of his shoulder when Iwaizumi just pulls him into a quiet hug. “I really am fine,” he tells him while he hugs him back closer.

Oikawa has set himself different options in letting his feelings out: through writing, through folding _origami_ s, and through long stays by the beach. He’s also thought about baring himself in front of the person that caused such feelings, and it’s truly a satisfaction rather than an embarrassment, because there’s something intimate about it—it’s like telling Iwaizumi he still trusts him despite the hanging feelings and those _almost_ , but of course he doesn’t bare himself entirely. Oikawa’s always learned how to lie. He lies anyway, even though he’s lying to Iwaizumi.

“It’s nothing big.”

“I don’t believe you and I know you won’t say it, but I’ll be right here.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That you’re always right there.”

“Would I say something I don’t mean?” he grumbles, sounding somehow offensive, but the pads of his fingers are gentle against his wet cheeks. “Look at me.”

“Iwa-chan is so annoying,” Oikawa whimpers and digs his head deeper, but Iwaizumi’s hands frame his face, steady and kind as he lifts it up.

It’s embarrassing not being able to face away—looking all disheveled and in snot and tears—even from the person who tells you it’s alright for you to bare yourself in front of them. If there’s anything, Oikawa has brought a habit back from his younger days, and that to cry nonstop.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” Iwaizumi states, a laugh formed at the tip of his tongue and his gaze fond on him. “You still look ugly when you cry.”

_Iwaizumi Hajime and his approach on things._

“I know,” Oikawa wheezes but he feels lighthearted than worse.

“And really messy.”

“I know,” he sniffs.

Iwaizumi sighs, and in a quick second, Oikawa feels his face being pulled and a soft bump to his forehead. Only then, when they’re both silent in each other’s arms does he realize that it was a kiss.

“Iwa-chan…”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi pulls back a little so he’s looking down at him. Oikawa’s head rests on his shoulder and from there, he can see the sharpness of Iwaizumi’s jaw line that has become refined over the years. It’s one of the few little things that make Oikawa understand why he wants to wake up next to him.

“Did you get taller?”

Iwaizumi’s face falls flat. “Ah, what bullshit are you saying?” He shakes Oikawa up with his arm and the motion sends both their noses bumping. Oikawa doesn’t even realize they’re _that_ close. “Of course I grew taller!”

 

 

**

 

 

Upon waking up an hour before the sunrise, he’s only realized that they both fell asleep on the couch. The left over chip bags and drinks are still all over the table but the TV is turned off. Oikawa reckons he had fallen asleep first before Iwaizumi did and just left the night like this.

He’s woken up to Iwaizumi before, but he’s never woken up to him this close, almost like they’re finally _there_. Oikawa knows it’s wrong to indulge himself so early in the morning when he hasn’t even conditioned his own heart to certain things like this, because if it was still okay for him before, he knows what goes past the limits. Whatever that happened last night—the hug, the forehead kiss, and gentle words—he tries to chuck them at the back of his head, because people forget, even a kiss 5 years ago was forgotten. He does try but then he knows trying won’t work, because he’s certain he’ll come to remember them when he’s got nothing to think.

As the season tiptoes to the middle of November, Miyagi’s weather drops down to the lowest temperature it can manage, and Oikawa finds his fingers turning pale blue against it. He spots a throw blanket pooling on his feet, and instead of coating himself with it, he gives it to Iwaizumi and heads to the balcony.

 _Maybe fate is a little cruel, after all_ , he thinks. It’s a little cruel how you still love the same person even after all the years, with time and the days and destined events passing by and bounding to exist, but fate itself has its own little miracles, and so Oikawa decides it’s all worth it.

_You’re still worth it._

 

 

**

 

 

“Why did you decide to become a writer, Oikawa?”

“It’s just like volleyball, Iwa-chan. I feel free when I write even if I still lack a lot myself, it’s something that helps me get by. _Somehow_.” He chuckles, fiddling with a dog ear of his notebook. Hajime is suddenly eager to know what he’s writing but the thing is, he had always  _known_ what at least they are about. “You can't always mold time and the inevitability of things, but you can write things down with your preferred ending."

Hajime catches his eyes when Tooru turns to look at him, and suddenly he can't discern his smile like the way he used to because he’s been giving him these _genuine_ ones lately, no matter how much he anticipates the opposite in certain instances. All he knows is that his heart aches a little too uncomfortably, like it has a higher level mind of its own to distinguish what’s what than he is able to.

“It's been fun, hasn’t it?” Iwaizumi addresses after a long stretch of silence.

Tooru lifts his palm and gently thumps his chest. It remains right there, on the part where something pulsates underneath, even as he looks away from him and basks into the sunrise. Hajime can’t help but be drawn to how the lights perfectly loll to his face, it makes his eyes appear a little more misty and glowing. “It helps. It’s nice getting all that weight off your chest into paper, though it would have been wonderful if things just happen the way you want them to be... so you don’t have to bother writing them down. Let the story unfold on its own.”

Hajime hums softly, joining him as they watch the sunlight slowly illuminate the slow shift of the city. People are up, out and about for work, making the empty, gray concrete occupied and busy and yet his gaze is gravitated towards the person a shoulder, just a reach away from him. _So near, but so far._ Tooru’s face is oddly calm, but there’s just something in his air that speaks forlorn.

He asks him, “How many endings have you tried to alter, Tooru?”

The call of his name makes his breath visibly hitch. Tooru looks at him with a thoughtful gaze before the corners of his lips soften and he goes back into viewing the sunrise. Hajime hates that he has to look away because he doesn't have to.

_I’m right here, aren’t I?_

“Just a few.” He looks surprisingly placid, the epitome of summer tranquil for someone whose hands are shaking. Hajime prays for spring to come quick. “Just those endings I didn’t get the way I wished them to be.”

There is a pondering silence and then— “Stories don't end only if we don't let them, Oikawa." Tooru turns to him with a rather confused look, but there's something that sparks in his eyes Hajime can tell is some sort of realization. He steadily holds his gaze at him and continues, "Continuously encountering pain... we feel that the burden will undoubtedly become too much. Even worse when you feel it daily, huh? Thus we decide, _oh I should end this now_ , because that's the most logical, feasible plan, because it's what's right, when in irony, you want to pursue a good ending but you’re already scared to continue. In the absolute sense, all stories purely don’t have to end, you just gotta have a heart of steel and endure just a little longer. I believe that’s an efficient way of altering a possible bad ending only if you keep on hoping.”

“What do I do, Iwa-chan?” Tooru lets out a huff, a chuckle wriggling out of his lips, yet for a terrifying moment, he swears he just sobbed instead. “The last time I did—hoped, waited, tried making my heart steel—everything started to drift away.”

He looks a bit older than his age this way, hunched over the railing with matured pain on his shoulders. Hajime had thought he won’t be able to read him like before, and yet he stands there, ever so like an open book no matter how much he closes off to the world.

“Have you given up already?”

Tooru only shrugs, doesn’t look at him. “Have I?” It is when a long minute passes that he turns his gaze at him again, eyes probing, pleading for an answer. “Should I already?”

 _Don’t. Give everything a chance._  Hajime wants to answer but he’s not in place to decide when he’s not the one bearing the weight and the decision of what’s right.

And yet again, “You wouldn’t be Oikawa Tooru if you would.”

At this, Tooru chuckles, all genuine like he knows he will say this, and Hajime exhales with the lighter stance he emits himself.

 

 

**

 

 

Days bleed into weeks, ash and rust become winter azure, and the anxiety of a long preparation simmers down into the success of the surgery. And while the new stitches sting his skin outside, the inner ache he’s felt for years boil down into painlessness.

Even in a post-volleyball journey, Iwaizumi is with him—through endless PT sessions, home exercises, and reminders of medicine intakes. Twenty-four in present, Oikawa yet questions how things would have turned out if he did all the process by himself.

Iwaizumi visits him the night on his fifth week of recovering, bringing bags of groceries, packs of vitamins, a bouquet of orange gladiolus, and a large white frame that seemed rather familiar. Oikawa asks him what it is, and when Iwaizumi shows it to him after placing the groceries on the counter and the flowers in a vase, his face melts into confusion but there’s also a hint of tenderness in there.

“Why are you giving it back to me?”

It’s the framed poem _Strong in the Rain_ that he’s last given Iwaizumi on his nineteenth birthday. Oikawa examines it carefully—the corner right of the wood is chipped but the ink is still in its same vibrancy the way he remembered it years ago. He looks at Iwaizumi with patience and waits for a reason.

“I see this exactly almost every day in my room—when I wake up, when I leave, when I get home—to the point where I have the words unconsciously memorized,” Iwaizumi begins and Oikawa prods him. “Whenever I read it, I always felt that you were never gone, not because I hear it in your voice saying it to me, but because it reminds me of you. It made me feel iffy and I keep on thinking about it, because if there’s anyone who’s a reminder of this poem, it should be you.”

“Iwa-chan…” he stammers, speechless.

“Actually, a lot of things do. Just everywhere I go; when you were not here, I always felt that you were with me,” Iwaizumi confesses. There’s a frustrated look on his face that only shows nothing but fondness, that he can’t help that he’s saying this because he’s always, always wanted to say this. “Back then, sometimes, I made breakfast for two and ended up eating everything. That’s why I never forgot about you.”

Oikawa’s eyes waver as he tries to study him. He’s always been the worst at handling Iwaizumi’s impromptu speeches that his mind and mouth goes on a tangled mess and he’s only left uttering a stuttered “W-what?”

“I miss you,” Iwaizumi says even if they both know they’ve met each other a day ago.

“What keeps on letting you say these things?” Oikawa clutches on his nightstand and tries sitting up with his knee dragging him. It’s difficult. His heart rams hard against his throat and he swears if he was to stand up, he would have collapsed entirely. “Iwa-chan, you’re shitting with me, right?”

“Why do you always doubt what I say? Now I’m getting embarrassed,” Iwaizumi grumbles, trying to act _nonchalant embarrassed_ as he approaches him on his bed. In fact his ears and neck are blaring red like the unease has come to him and Oikawa feels himself blushing as well.

“I miss you, too.”

“You’re in the wrong moment! Seriously,” Iwaizumi huffs, clutching Oikawa’s hips and swiftly dragging him back to a lying position. He swears his hip just snapped, but the thing is, he’s more focused on Iwaizumi hovering him. His breath is warm and minty against his face and his stomach levitates upon smelling his aftershave. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he whispers, eyes bulging against the close contact.

“Good,” Iwaizumi whispers back, warm and making him all soft. More pink dusts Oikawa’s cheeks and he shrinks when Iwaizumi notices this and give him a half smile. “Hey.”

It’s just a single, plain word, all casual and said laid-back, but Oikawa feels an explosion of words in his chest. “Hey.”

Iwaizumi studies his face for a moment and Oikawa does the same. It’s quite the frustration seeing his face like this—when he’s looking at Oikawa as if he’s the only thing that matters in here. He wants to ask him all his curiosities, whether the lingering looks he throws at him means something or a habit. Iwaizumi opens his mouth but shuts it close as if he’s contemplating on something, then shakes his head.

“I should go,” he murmurs as he finishes fluffing Oikawa’s pillow to a preferred comfort.

Dizziness slowly overcomes him, but so does the want, the  _yearning_ of nothing certain and everything at once, and his heart runs a thousand beats a second. He doesn’t want him to go yet, and the futile attempt of holding Iwaizumi’s hand so he stops is blatant pleading.

“Stay.”

He feels Iwaizumi freeze from his pulse point, but no matter how his mind tells him to just let go— _it's just a one-night feeling, nothing drags for a long time, not even emotions_ —he decides to follow his heart this time.

As if he hasn't been doing it all along…

“Stay. Please,” he pleads again, squeezing his hand.

Iwaizumi’s tenseness soon melts and Oikawa hears him sigh. He watches him with silent gratefulness and a twinge in his heart as he takes a seat on the floor beside the bed and close to him.

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi grumbles, an even deeper frown appearing on his forehead. It makes him look frustrated and older, and a thought occurs that maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. “You're so selfish, always telling me to never leave you. I told you once that I couldn’t always be there, so who was going to take care of you,  _idiot_? But you insisted I shouldn’t leave. Was it because  _you_  were leaving me instead?”

Oikawa falls silent, and neither complains about the guilt lingering in the air, because it’s true—he did leave him, and no matter how he’s always left his heart in Japan, in Miyagi, in the very spaces they made life in, the broad thought that he was left behind is what has always appeared to Iwaizumi. His eyes cast downwards, not because he can’t look at Iwaizumi in the eye, but because he quietly internalizes how things would have been if he hadn’t left.

“So, don’t ever leave me again.” Iwaizumi scolds and softly takes his hand in his as he whispers, “Stay.”

He doesn’t know how long has been waiting to hear this, and there’s heat at the backs of his eyes that he can’t cool down. Iwaizumi doesn’t mention anything about how he’s an idiot that’s about to cry—perhaps he can’t notice, but it’s not like that matters when he’s looking at Oikawa with such eyes that make him want to write a million words.

“Won’t you lay down with me?” He mutters, the smooth rubbing of a finger on the back of his hand making him a little drowsy and a little more in love. “If you’re going to stay after all.”

“Move over, will you?” Iwaizumi says as a tender smile breaks into his face. “I’ll ransack your closet quickly so I can change.”

“Iwa-chan is a closet thief.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” He stands up, swings one of Oikawa’s closet door that shows his sweaters and points to a green one in particular. “That’s _my_ hoodie, dumbass.”

“You left a bunch of clothes in there! I placed them in a separate compartment, lower left,” Oikawa provides, sounding a bit frantic as his night companion starts to strip down to his boxers. He clearly doesn’t listen so Oikawa tries not to yelp and diverts his attention somewhere as interesting as the ceiling. “The shirts are on the upper drawer, for your information,” he adds since it doesn’t look like Iwaizumi plans on wearing one.

Iwaizumi raises a brow at him and walks over, truly half-naked only in his sweatpant glory,  _nothing_  covered up there to show he really will be sleeping beside him like that. It makes Oikawa gulp, because throughout his whole life, he doesn’t really recall himself sleeping with him shirtless.

The fire on his face worsens when Iwaizumi dips himself into the mattress and welcomes him with open arms. “C’mere.”

“ _You_ come here. I can’t move with my knee,” Oikawa reasons smoothly, and he thanks the heavens that he doesn’t stutter like an idiot. It prods Iwaizumi to roll his eyes, but nonetheless, he scoots closer to spoon him.

“It’s been more than a month, I’m pretty sure it has healed.”

It almost feels so domestic if only there is something established between them. Despite everything, it still makes his heart produce a thousand butterflies.

“Okay?” Iwaizumi asks.

A sigh comes out of relief, and he pulls Iwaizumi closer to him. He thinks this might be the coziest night he will ever spend—the heater is finally kicking in, his socked feet comes in tangle with Iwaizumi’s, and the warmth on his back his more worth than a high-end duvet.

It always takes him a million units of energy to brave himself enough to make a move, but this time,  _this night_ , Oikawa takes no second thoughts when he laces his fingers through his. He pivots his head to look at him, and realizes Iwaizumi has looked at him first—it’s a simile his heart has always desired.

Iwaizumi presses a soft kiss to the corner of his eye just as Oikawa responds, “Okay.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 442 }_

_Let me be selfish one time._

_If only I don't have to sleep._

_So this one time doesn't have to end._

 

 

**

 

 

On the night of Christmas, Iwaizumi tests Oikawa’s vintage CD player he’d gotten from a boutique by playing Spandau Ballet’s ‘True’ on loop. Furnitures are all pushed to the sides and they’re both slow-dancing on their makeshift dance floor for some spontaneous reason. It’s the first time Oikawa’s danced with him, but he’s imagined a couple of times what it would be like to dance in his arms. He knows people had noticed him looking at Iwaizumi with patent longing as he danced with Amaya at the wedding reception—even the bride herself did. And as Iwaizumi finished, Oikawa took his turn only to be welcomed by such blunt statement.

“Give him a chance, Oikawa,” Amaya had told him with a friendly smile, nothing of ill-intent and only of pure genuineness. “I’m not in the right position to say this since I hardly know the both of you, but he’s been waiting for you ever since.”

Iwaizumi has two left feet for someone who just wooed him into a dance, but as the tireless hours pass by, they learn to sway in matching paces and smile at every mistake. Oikawa realizes that the longer he stands with Iwaizumi, the more he notices the height difference between them.

“Iwa-chan, it really does seem like you’ve grown taller.”

Iwaizumi smirks, purposely standing erect to look down at him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I say I got taller.”

“I won’t believe you unless we both get on a stadiometer.”

He rolls his eyes. “We can go to a fucking clinic if you want to, Oikawa.”

“I have a stadiometer here.”

“What kinds of things have you been bringing in your house?” He asks in disbelief but Oikawa just shrugs. “Unbelievable.”

 _True_ is still playing in the background when Oikawa gets on the stadiometer first. He does try not to show how pissed he is when they find out only 2 millimeters are added to his height but Iwaizumi’s smug face just glows with shittiness. He follows suit and he looks at Oikawa with a menacing grin as the result comes out.

“You—”

“I really can’t believe you’d doubt everything I say,” Iwaizumi exclaims good-naturedly but it’s quite clear to hear the hint of affront in his voice.

“You gained 4 centimeters, you cheater.” There’s guilt but Oikawa just tries casually dismissing it for the avoidance of unease. “How did you do it?”

“It was meant for me all along,” he harrumphs, all conceited and Oikawa almost thought he’s looking at himself. It makes him smile fondly.

“I’m not even upset. I’m proud that you finally grew well after I watered you for years!”

Iwaizumi kicks his shin.

“Quit it! I’m a fragile person!”

“Oikawa Tooru is not a fragile person,” Iwaizumi says, stepping away from the stadiometer. Oikawa huffs and goes back into it instead to measure himself again, but the numbers are still the same.

Iwaizumi smiles at this and gently grabs Oikawa’s hips until he’s backing him up against the wall. By its approach, it’s playful in a way but it makes Oikawa feel the thrashing of his heart that he swears his knees buckle even with the wall’s support.

“Just admit that I finally caught up with you,” he whispers and the puffs of his breath come in gentle contacts against Oikawa’s lips.

Oikawa gulps. “I’m still taller than you though.”

“Two millimeters is nothing. All that height goes to your hair. You’re deluding people.”

“Is it my fault that you have such ugly, unstyled hair?”

“At least I’m not balding any soon,” Iwaizumi says defensively. “Good luck with all those hair products.”

“Iwa-chan will still love me even if I go bald,” he states without intention. It’s like stepping on a landmine as soon as he realizes it, and his mind goes on a haywire while thinking of ways to escape. He tries to laugh it off, plans on calling it a night and avoiding him for the rest of the week, but when he catches Iwaizumi’s eyes softening into something that tweaks his feeling, he knows he won’t be able to get out of it.

“I have something for you, by the way,” Iwaizumi tells him, digging into his pocket until he shows him a necklace with a flat, round pendant with the carving of the planet Earth. Despite how many surprises and impromptus Iwaizumi’s shown him, he’s still unable to retaliate in situations like these and always ends up with his feelings knotting.

“What’s this for? All of a sudden?”

“Let’s say, it’s an ‘I saw it and thought of you’ necklace or however you might call it,” Iwaizumi says coolly and motions him over. “Lower your head.”

He slips it around his neck easy, the pads of his fingers gentle and ticklish against his nape when he works on the lock. “How is it?” He asks Iwaizumi when he comes back up to show him.

“Suits you,” Iwaizumi answers, eyes softening as he gazes at him. “Merry Christmas.”

Oikawa swears he just melted but then his heart also throbs in fullness. It’s a little perplexing and overwhelming at the same time—he knows he has a heart to guard, but like all the other days, he knows it will always come to giving in.  “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, smiling back at him. “I didn’t get you anything though.”

“No pressure,” Iwaizumi tells him with a small laugh. It feels warm and cozy, and Oikawa thinks the moment is really just like Christmas when Iwaizumi steps forward, wraps his arms around his waist, and holds him like he doesn’t want to let go. “It’s fine this way.”

 _It’s more than fine_ , he wants to tell him. _Don’t let go, okay?_

But of course Oikawa knows his place, so he only catches all the chance he can get and hugs him like he won’t be able to tomorrow, because he does indeed know about ephemerality.

It’s been long since the fireworks had gone off, but Oikawa feels as if his own doesn’t have any plans on stopping.

_I have a lot of things to tell you, and whether you know them already or never had the chance to, don’t let go of me._

It’s almost as if Iwaizumi heard his silent plea, because he squeezes his arms around him and mashes his face to his neck. The coldness of the silver chain presses up against his skin, but the warmth of Iwaizumi’s skin and breath are just the perfect contrast.

“Can I stay again for the night?”

 

 _What are we, after all?_  he wants to ask him.

It had rung in his head for who-knows-how-much within all these years, but he realizes he doesn't want to know, doesn't want this to end yet, because the moment he will ask, what lies in his fate depends on the answer. If he hurts again, he has promised himself this is the last time. He doesn't want to let go yet, so he doesn't ask him.

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 501 }_

_It’s at dawn that the world falls asleep,_

_when every thing drops unguarded:_

_the alleyways, the consciousness,_

_the heart._

 

 

**

 

 

“You know, I’ve been calling for you since Sunday, why aren’t you responding?”

“I know,” Oikawa deadpans, scrolling through his phone and then showing his screen with his call log to Hanamaki. “You sent me 52 miscalls this week. _Fifty-two_. You call more often than my own mother does that I am starting to think if you’re my real mom instead.”

“Asshole, I thought all of you died.”

“What the hell.”

“Is everyone ignoring me? Am I that annoying?” Hanamaki asks with a raised, offended tone as he yet again welcomes himself into Oikawa’s living room. Oikawa eyes him with the usual face, as if he’s used that one stray cat which constantly trespasses his home. “I’m just trying to be a responsible friend checking on you guys since we all haven’t signed up for our funeral plans yet.”

“It’s almost final week,” he sighs, dumping himself beside Hanamaki as he rubs on his temple. “I had to make test papers for my lovely students.”

“How’s Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki inquires, ignoring him and Oikawa is snubbed.

“You’re not even gonna ask me?”

“Clearly, you’re half-dying,” Hanamaki states a matter-of-factly with a gesture to Oikawa’s face. “I haven’t seen that guy in so long. What’s he up to?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Oikawa smiles politely and stands up from his seat, having clearly known where the subject is going to go. “Want something to drink?”

“Well, you’re both literally one soul so might as well do. If you have beer, then I’ll take that.”

“It’s nine in the fucking morning.”

“What’s taking you so long to answer a question, dumbass.”

“Only Iwa-chan calls me a dumbass!” Oikawa bristles from the kitchen island. “You have zero authority.”

Hanamaki gives him a knowing smile. “What makes him so special about it?”

“He’s doing good, I think,” Oikawa mutters, turning his back to him as he dodges the question. He pulls his fridge open and literally shoves his whole face into it just so he can avoid whatever Hanamaki’s making a face with.

“You think?”

“Well, that’s what I think from what I saw last night?”

“You were with him last night?” Hanamaki questions offended rather than amused. “Is that why you rats weren’t answering to my calls then.”

“Why, what’s wrong about it?” Oikawa taunts defensively, harrumphing with his arms crossed and nose shoved up. “We had late coffee, what’s the big deal?”

“Late coffee?” This time, Hanamaki sounds suspicious and teasing as he observes him with interest. “You went out late together?”

“Can you stop asking? Are you my mother? Why are you always minding about my whereabouts!”

“Oikawa, how many times a week do you see him?”

On instinct and out of the blue, Oikawa’s arms fly up dramatically to his chest. “Are you conducting a survey? Is this for an article?”

“So, this had been the reason why you’re not answering my or Mattsun’s calls because you’re together.” He scratches on his chin as if finally figuring out a riddle. “ _I see._ ”

“Alright, since you’re here I’ll just ask you. What did you want?”

“I was gonna gather everyone over for a little reunion because both Mattsun and I were free on the weekend. But I just found out you two douchebags were going without us.”

“We always go out unplanned! It’s not our fault!” Oikawa argues and throws a can of beer towards him. The flawless projectile just lands perfectly on Hanamaki’s lap.

“That could have hit my groin, you know?”

“It’s been so long since we all had drinks, hasn’t it?” He trudges to his living room and sits back down beside Hanamaki. As opposed to his friend’s can of beer, Oikawa sips on his box of low-fat milk. “Usually it’s either I’m not present, or Iwa-chan, or you, or Mattsun.”

“Or Mattsun and I because you’re just always with Iwaizumi. Alone. And that’s like,” Hanamaki makes a vague wave of his hand. “ _every day_.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You’re exaggerating things, grandma. We just greet each other when we meet on campus.”

“I heard he brings you lunch.”

“Ah, that. Actually,” he admits with a small voice, hand coming up to rub at his neck. “He told me he still makes meals for two. And that went on since we lived together back in college.”

“Ah…” Hanamaki drones, leaning back with another gulp and a meaningful smile. “Old habits really never die.” He then turns to Oikawa and nudges his head at him. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

Oikawa flusters. “He kind of like gave it to me on Christmas.”

“ _Kind of_?”

“ _Well_ …” he consciously sits erect. “He gave it to me.”

“Oikawa…”

“What?”

“Is he wooing you?”

“W-what?” Oikawa blurts out in surprise, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s clearly in love with you,” Hanamaki deadpans.

“ _What?_ ”

“You sound like a broken record.”

There’s a vibration in Oikawa’s pocket that makes him leap off his seat on impulse, and on a whim, it makes Hanamaki jump as well. Oikawa cackles when his beer swishes and spills on his pants, but only remembers he has a call to take when his phone goes on for another round of vibration.

“Oh,” Hanamaki snickers when they both see Iwaizumi’s name on the screen. “Just pretend I’m not here and you two proceed on being lovey-dovey.”

“We’re not being lovey-dovey.” Oikawa grimaces, and like the expert that he is, turns on full 180 degrees upon answering his phone. “Yes?”

_“Hey.”_

As Iwaizumi’s sleep-induced voice melts in his ear, Oikawa tries to ignore Hanamaki’s ridiculous snort when red dusts his cheeks. “You just woke up?”

 _“Correct.”_ Iwaizumi laughs, deep and hoarse and Oikawa shoves a whole pillow into Hanamaki’s face.

“Can you not look?” he hisses and adjusts his ass on his seat to face away from him.

_“What?”_

“Oh, it’s just Makki. He’s being annoying again, Iwa-chan!”

 _“Stop being a baby.”_ Iwaizumi scolds. _“Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t call back. It’s been hectic.”_

“But you keep going out on dat—”

“He won’t believe us,” Oikawa interrupts, hand shoved against his seatmate’s mouth. “Don’t say sorry to him.”

 _“You’re both idiots.”_ When the targets simultaneously snort, Iwaizumi proceeds. _“Anyway, Oikawa…”_

“Yeah?”

_“Do you have plans after finals?”_

“I was planning to go home,” he chuckles and Iwaizumi hums. “I haven’t been home since.”

_“That’s nice. I’m sure your mom misses you.”_

“Yeah. She tells me that whenever she calls so I’m aware.”

_“Miss you, too.”_

Oikawa softens and sinks on the couch, phone still clutched against his ear. He feels his heart twinge at it and knows Hanamaki is keeping an eye on his every reaction, but even so, he really can’t figure out what to make a face of.

“But we saw each other last night?” he tries gently laughing it off, picking off the corners of the cushion he’s hugging. There’s always a degree of intimacy in _I miss you_ s that he can’t decipher with just words—but somehow, they always seem like those things that count as _almost there_ s. “How come Iwa-chan misses me already?”

_“Don’t you?”_

Oikawa nods. “I do.”

_“What?”_

“I do.”

 _“Do what?”_ Iwaizumi innocently asks with his voice tiptoeing to a chuckle and Oikawa internally groans.

“Miss you.”

“Oh my god,” Hanamaki wheezes beside him and he kicks his arm to shut him up.

_“Can I drop by this dinner? Just really quick.”_

“If you plan on coming here more than three times a week then you should just save gas by living with me,” he jokes and Iwaizumi just gives a lighthearted laugh.

“Could you two stop flirting with each other,” Hanamaki remarks at the side and Oikawa throws him a glare. “Let me talk to him.”

“Don’t say trash,” he warns him while still in the middle of an internal debate with it. Ultimately, Hanamaki snatches his phone before he could decide for himself.

“Iwaizumi,” he starts with a serious tone and Oikawa’s stomach drops as he feels an ominous follow-up. He inches close to him just in case, and the assault comes when Hanamaki asks the same question he’s been sputtering about. “Are you wooing Oikawa?”

Oikawa’s hand flies up to his mouth and he’s positive the impact had come ruthlessly than planned, but that doesn’t stop Hanamaki from grinning after quite a long pause.

“Give me that.”

Willingly, Hanamaki gives his phone back without objections and weirdly comments, “I feel like my heart is finally settled.”

“Then the door is to your right and you can go home,” Oikawa points out and clips his phone in between his ear and shoulder as he speaks back to Iwaizumi. “He’s our friend but I feel like I always have to apologize for him for you.”

_“You know he always says bullshit and we’re used to it.”_

“I can hear that,” Hanamaki pipes up.

_“Anyways, you don’t have plans for tonight, right?”_

“Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t.” Oikawa softens. “Are you coming?”

_“Mhm. Don’t cook dinner. I’ll bring you real homemade food.”_

“Don’t come here. Bye.”

 _“Easy. I was kidding.”_ Iwaizumi snickers. _“Mom told me last night she’ll cook something special today, you know, since it’s the weekend… sort of a tradition.”_

Oikawa makes an overdone gasp. “I can’t believe you’d just ditch your mom tonight when she’d cook you food.”

_“Ask Makki if he wants to join.”_

Oikawa looks at Hanamaki for confirmation but he only raises his eyebrow.

“Are you guys stupid? Of course, I won’t.”

“He’s bitter.”

He hears Iwaizumi snort. _“Then I guess I’ll just see you tonight. Gotta go take a shower, too, so I’m hanging up.”_

“Finally, you’re taking a bath.”

 _“Shut up. It’s five degrees.”_ He growls. _“Bye.”_

“Don’t drown.”

_“I know how to swim and you don’t.”_

“You two sure are goddamn noisy. Will you stop flirting with each other…”

 

 

**

 

 

Finals come and pass and the moment spring break arrives at Oikawa’s feet, he’s packing half his things up into baggages and riding home gunshot. His childhood hometown hasn’t changed except for a few new faces and a couple of older ones, and the moment he feels anticipated nostalgia creep in, he locks eyes with Iwaizumi in the driver’s seat.

“Feels good to be home.”

With Iwaizumi in tow, he pays a visit to some houses of his childhood zone and cowers under the gushes of neighborhood _obaa-san_ s and middle-aged aunties. They ask him if he’s married yet and expects pair-ups and blind dates with single daughters and granddaughters, but he tells them he’s not up for both yet. _Well, maybe he is_. _To someone_.

“That’s a pity,” Cho-san from three houses to the right says in shame. “You’re both good-looking men with great careers. Usually, this would be the right time to get married.”

“Tooru-kun, Hajime-kun, don’t your mothers nag on you about it?”

“ _Okaa-san_ doesn’t really think much about it. As long as I don’t die alone, then she can rest without worries,” Oikawa jokes.

“I won’t get married if this guy won’t.” Iwaizumi jabs him a thumb and ignores him with his flabbergasted look. “Otherwise, I would have to take care of my child and this one.”

“What the heck are you saying, Iwa-chan?” he sputters, chuckling awkwardly. Iwaizumi cocks a questioning stare at him and he just completely colors from head to toe.

“Then perhaps you two should get married instead?” The old lady from the counter giggles and Oikawa stiffens at it. It’s basically stepping on a landmine, but rather than not having a say about it, Iwaizumi just laughs good-naturedly and glances at him with that knowing smile.

“The right time will come if you’re patient,” Fumiko-san comments calmly from the side. “Besides, you two are still in your mid-twenties, you’ll realize there’s still a lot more time than you think. My daughter was single until she was twenty-seven, but she did marry a year later. Some things are just unexpected and the best things come to you in surprise.”

Oikawa does somehow agree to that, because love had come to him uninvited, but he realizes the best thing had been with him all along.

 

Iwaizumi’s mother hugs him with the strength she hasn’t donned on Oikawa in more than five years that she lifts him off the ground. He’s reminded of a reunion from a certain someone in autumn, muses over the familiar feeling, and hugs her with the same intensity. Iwaizumi watches him by the door’s threshold with a fond look and ultimately decides to break them apart before his mother hurts his back.

“You’re all grown up now. Where’s that baby Tooru we all know?”

Oikawa chuckles in embarrassment and Iwaizumi warns him with an ashamed voice. “ _Okaa-san…_ ”

“He’s still there,” Oikawa comments cutely and hears Iwaizumi barf beside him. His mother smacks his arm for him in which he recoils.

“You two are still the same as ever. Hajime, quit teasing him!”

“ _Okaa-san_ , I can’t believe you still defend him ‘til now.”

“Shut up, you’re twenty-four. You can defend yourself.”

Oikawa chokes a laugh.

“But he’s twenty-four, too?” Iwaizumi chimes incredulously, looking genuinely perplexed at the biasness. “Ah, suddenly, I’m so annoyed.”

“Will you stop being a baby? I give you attention every day.”

“I’m not being a baby.”

“Iwa-chan is being a baby,” Oikawa taunts.

“Shut up, loser.”

“Tooru, are you married?” she asks him and he blinks in the suddenness of the question.

“Uh, no, I’m not.”

“Then go marry Hajime and argue with him like you’re both a married couple.”

 

Oikawa groggily wakes up to Iwaizumi knocking on his door three days into his vacation. He stands there by his porch—get up unusual for a neighborhood stroll because he is wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and has a helmet in hand. Only then he understands when he spots a sportsbike parked by the curb and gives Iwaizumi a questioning look.

“Is that yours?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi makes a lopsided smile. “Dress warmly. We have somewhere to go.”

Yet again, here Iwaizumi Hajime is and his whims; Oikawa can’t help but chuckle. “Do you mind if I’ll have a quick shower?”

“As if I ever did.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be in the living room.”

 

The moment Oikawa comes back down from his room, he sees Iwaizumi having breakfast with his parents in their dining table. It comes out as a picturesque scene to him, and it honestly looks as if Iwaizumi’s been there many times than Oikawa has with how he mingles with them familiarly.

“We’re you guys talking behind my back?”

Iwaizumi jumps on his seat and looks at him like a deer in the headlights, however, his mother just ushers him calmly. “Yes, we were. Please eat your breakfast.”

“How many times have you done this while I was away?”

“Whenever Hajime comes over,” his father speaks up from his morning paper.

“And how often does Iwa-chan come over?” He squints his eyes at him and Iwaizumi only shrugs impassively.

“Everyday.”

“Unbelievable.”

 

“Where exactly are we going?” Oikawa asks Iwaizumi upon receiving the extra helmet hung from the hand clutch. When the latter exchanges it with the one he’s been carrying along, Oikawa gives him a confused look.

“That one’s warmer,” he says before getting on to the sportsbike, helmet now secured on his head, and motions Oikawa to follow suit. “We’re going to Tanesashi Beach.”

“Isn’t that three hours away?” Oikawa questions in amusement.

“But we’re not walking all the way there, aren’t we? Stupid.”

“Why are you suddenly so mean to me today? Be sweet with me!” Oikawa yells, chucking his helmet to his head while Iwaizumi helps him with the strap.

“Alright. Okay, baby. Come here,” Iwaizumi mocks. His expression is unseen under his helmet but it’s quite clear there’s teasing and fondness in the tone alone.

“Seriously, you’re so annoying,” Oikawa grumbles and harshly pulls the face shield down, blood on a rush from head to toe.

Iwaizumi snickers as he kicks the engine off. “What’s that? Did I finally piss you off?”

Oikawa only mutters gibberish, unable to say something intelligent in the midst of his mind being a clutter. He climbs behind him and his arms automatically cling around his torso. Iwaizumi takes that as a signal and when he begins revving up, Oikawa yells at him.

“Be careful with the speed! I’ll kill you if we die in an accident.”

“Okay,” he comments passively through the loud gush of the wind. “If you feel uncomfortable, tell me.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable driving three hours straight?”

“Yeah, it sure is a literal pain in the ass but it’s fun.”

“It’s just… it’s been really long since I’ve ridden a motorcycle!”

“You should thank me.”

“You literally kidnapped me though.”

“It was with consent! I asked permission from your parents.”

Oikawa wheezes, smacking his forehead against the back of his shoulder. “Seriously, Iwa-chan…”

 

Tanesashi coast is an unexpected view to him and it’s said in a way where a three-hour long drive is worth it. Oikawa takes in the vast expanse of the green bedding, luscious in the spring season and a warm welcome from a cold trip. He itches for pen and paper.

“I should have brought my Polaroid!”

“We can come back here anytime,” Iwaizumi says easy, and it amazes Oikawa how he says such things with an implication of promises. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes out and inhales in fresh air that makes him chuckle. He turns to look at Iwaizumi, hinting a silent _thank you_ and smiles.

“Isn’t it?” Iwaizumi says proudly, and he has that look on his face that he’s trying to take things in little by little, but then he’s facing Oikawa. “I used to come here frequently.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yeah.” He pockets both hands into his jacket and Oikawa watches him face the line where the sea meets the sky.

At this, he remembers his alone trips to Glenelg and wonders if it’s why he had always felt at ease whenever he visits there. He thinks of how miniscule the world is and of people from different places still looking at the same horizon.

“Someone told me,” he begins in a small, pensive voice as they’re both seated on the plain grass, overlooking the expanse of the sea and the world below them. “if you look at the horizon and unconsciously think of someone, they’re the reason for your happiness and pain. It means you love this person enough to break your walls down to bring you joy and hurt.” Oikawa doesn’t look at him when he asks, “what’s your two cents about it?”

“They’re right,” Iwaizumi answers, elbow propped on a propped knee. “But it didn’t have to be the horizon, you know? You just walk across the street or even in the sea of people, think about that someone, then you feel everything simultaneously—the joy, the hurt, the remembrance.”

Goosebumps shot on Oikawa’s skin upon the familiarity of the response, because it does taste akin to the words from his own tongue.

“Have you loved, Oikawa?”

 _Easy_ , he thinks, because such questions that run redundantly in his head makes him honest and will always be easy for him to counter.

“I have.” He nods, oddly calm. “I still. And I will always.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twitch into a doting smile, and this time, he faces him while he pokes at his chin. “Who would Oikawa Tooru be without persistence?”

Oikawa knows that all throughout his life, he wouldn’t be persistent if it wasn’t for him, because that’s what Iwaizumi Hajime is made to be—to prod him silently into diverse life phases.

“Iwa-chan, isn’t it strange how love comes in various timings?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes gradually trail off from his as he ponders on it, and Oikawa gives him a moment to dwell on the thought with silence. He hopes he understands him.

“Enlighten me.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan doesn’t relate to me then?” Oikawa softly chuckles.

“No, no… I’m not good at speaking at the moment.” He shakes his head. “Since I just want to hear what you wanted to say.”

“I’ve always thought you speak the right things.”

Iwaizumi quiets at this, then emitting a silent chuckle as his eyes trace down with a wistful look. “Well, everyone has ineloquent days.”

“I understand.” Oikawa presses a smile to give reassurance and proceeds to track his paused thoughts. “But like I said, don’t you ever feel that love just comes to you on a whim? Because when it does, I realized it doesn't have to be on a fine spring day," he drones and Iwaizumi slowly nods. "Sometimes, it comes on a thunderstorm, but instead of being afraid, when you feel that firm arrival, you feel at ease and it's less scary. Sometimes, the winter gets less harsh when you have that kind of warmth you want against your back. Sometimes, you hate spring when things you're longing for are not there. Some people find love in spring season or wish that they would in fall, but love isn't seasonal, I guess. It’s more like… snow arriving on a summer and suddenly, you're all up thinking, _so this is how it feels._..” he chuckles, pensive with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “There’s something else different in you that you know you’re eventually going to get used to.”

When Iwaizumi has his full attention on him, he doesn’t cower or recoil but is instead relieved that he gets to share the major fractions of his everyday sentiment. Somehow, it’s a big relief that he gets to be obliquely honest with him.

“Yeah, I get it now… what you’re trying to say.” Iwaizumi nods now that he understands him. “It was unexpected when it came to me, too. It felt a little funny because I did question myself why it had to be this person, but then who else would it be?” Oikawa looks at him, all curious and a little bit hopeful. “What about you? How did you felt then, Oikawa?”

 _Everything, all at once_ —simultaneously the pleasant ache, the dread of wanting to tell the world and keeping quiet, the want of reciprocation and a fair ending.

“While most people accept it with enthusiasm, some push it away. I can't say I side on just one, so maybe I’m neutral…” he says instead, just to be concise. “It’s since I neither want to ever push it away nor accept it enthusiastically just yet. It's like being afraid, but even so, experiencing such feeling would be all worth the world. It's like taking a risk. Bungee jumping? That, too.” His head tilts at the weird simile and Iwaizumi gives off a breathy chuckle. It rather sounds knowing. “It’s productivity of some sort? It makes you want to get up in the morning... makes you want to write a book, take a walk, talk to strangers, cry your heart out. But really, Iwa-chan, if you ask me how it felt?”

It did make him feel all kinds of things the world offered. Still, he knows that despite the heartbreaks that came and tagged along, he would say it has always been something wonderful to him.

“It made me feel at ease,” he utters, starry-eyed and wholeheartedly saying as if he’s bragging something big. “Love... I always want to have it in me. The love for a book, the love for a feeling, the love for a season, the love for a person. I don't want to forget anything.”

He watches Iwaizumi visibly soften, his exhale the exact sound of relief, and then there are fingers intertwining with his. Oikawa looks back at him with an honest, firm smile, holds onto his hand like a silent promise, and leaves things to fate.

“Me, too,” Iwaizumi whispers back. “I don’t want to forget anything.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 506 }_

_Love…_

_I always want to have it in me—_

_The love for a book,_

_the love for a feeling,_

_the love for a season,_

_the love for a person._

_I don't want to forget anything._

 

 

**

 

 

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa asks him when Iwaizumi kisses him at the porch good night. The evening has lolled to its darkest and the only thing that he sees are Iwaizumi’s blown pupils. “What are we, after all?”

With all the times he’s tried willing himself to ask, it’s the first time he’s ever verbalized it without the worry seeping in his bones. He’s not sure what to expect, because he knows everything comes with pros and cons (especially when falling in love), so he just waits for him with patience. Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s rebounding the question, but there’s something about their silent exchange that makes Oikawa a little too hopeful.

“What do you think, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks him back, but he doesn’t answer, because no matter how the proof has reached 50%, 75%, or 99%, he’s somehow scared to assume yet.

 _Say it_ , he chants. _Say it_.

He waits for him, looks at him expectantly, until Iwaizumi’s eyes waver.

“I don’t know yet.”

His face softens before giving out a small nod. “Okay.”

“Oikawa…”

“Hajime,” he cuts him off and Iwaizumi’s face creases at the call. Oikawa’s hands come to his to gently pry them off his waist, leaving them awkwardly hanging. “You don’t have to try for me,” he tells him, voice worn at the corners but eyes soft. “I’m just glad we’re still the way we are. Today… I was very happy. I had a wonderful day.”

“Tooru—“ Iwaizumi calls out as he reaches for the door.

“In fact, I never felt lighter than before,” he admits. “I felt like I had said everything that needs to be said.”

He tries giving Iwaizumi a reassuring smile while he gapes like he’s out of words, and when Oikawa chuckles, it sounds a little strained, but maybe it’s the exhaustion of a great day’s journey that has come to a finish. “Good night.”

 

 

**

 

 

Hajime has been straight out staring at his ceiling for the past long hours, incessantly replaying the chances he fucked up for the past decade. He can’t seem to forget the look in Tooru’s face—no matter how he tried to be dismissive about it, the disappointment was clear in his face and it lingers in Hajime’s mind even as he tries dragging himself to sleep.

It’s way half past 2 AM and he figures out there’s no use wasting time pondering over something he can’t work out at this point in time and that will eat him up until morning, so he decides to get his mind off of it for a while and grabs his laptop.

For someone who’s currently on a vacation, he actually hasn’t submitted final grades for his students yet and tries to get through it by cramming as quickly as possible. There are still things to review but he encourages himself how little is left now. There’s an array of videos inside the folder named ‘Unfinished – Art Dept.’ and he clicks the file from Yahaba Tomori.

_“I have suitors!”_

_“And yet, Sensei, you still don’t have anyone?”_

_“No.”_

_“Sensei, perhaps you are heartbroken… or waiting for someone?”_

_“Maybe…”_

Indeed, when out of all the thousands of prominent faculty members bestow Tohoku University, Hajime never really expected Tooru to appear in one of the videos. It was some funny thing he had thought and made his film students do as a final project. _Be creative and dramatic as you want,_ he had told them.

However, there, he watches him on his laptop screen and subconsciously recalls the day they first met in five years by the powder blue button down he’s wearing. Something inside of him melts into fondness, and although Tooru is two houses down to the right, he’s staring at his screen with longing.

 _“I just thought it was amazing... well,_ _you know_ _, to have someone understand you like an open book no matter how you close yourself off to everything, that in the midst of the people not lending an ear, he becomes a saving grace. It’s like he was a psychic.”_

Hajime chuckles and disregards the dampness in his eyes as a consequence of sleep deprivation.

_“Do you still think about that person until today, Oikawa-sensei?”_

_“Always.”_ A pause. _“It never occurred to me that I’d forget him. He reminds me of a lot of things.”_

Hajime was never really a believer of fate until he began to marvel the occurrences of different things. No matter the scale of relevance or the size of importance, he has taught himself how to take a careful eye on them. The blow of the wind, the velocity of a speeding car, or the blooming of a flower—it makes him wonder whether it is patience that makes him understand the various quirks of the universe, because even as odd as questioning how rocks are formed, he provides answers for himself by being patient and thoughtful.

 _“But you see, as I mentioned the_ _partly_ _part, it’s because not everything heals with time. A knee can heal, broken dreams can be mended, but there are certain things that should be left their way._

_“The thing about time, even with how endless it seems, there are things that walk along with the seconds. While some are forgotten, there are parts that remain stuck on the hand of the clock as it ticks forward in time and they never tire.”_

Hajime guesses why he sees and reminds himself of Tooru in everything. He is not a patient man to begin with, but with him and because of him, it’s so much more than endurance and doing it for the sake of being someone dependable. Now he knows why he’s more aware of his surroundings, more attentive on incidences, and more appreciative of things because he’s taught him what patience is. Hajime did wait for several seasons until he came back into his life, and unknowingly, he’s even come to love the coldest of winters and the most scorching hours of summers. He willed himself to read the same book over and over until he came to love the pieces just so he can understand every word embedded by faded prints.

Now Hajime knows why he loves Miyazawa Kenji’s works, because they remind him of Tooru—

—difficult to understand, makes your toes curl, but with a handful of persistence, one will ultimately get to that part—to the _knowing smile_ part. And when Hajime did, he had known it’s something else deeper than accomplishment itself.

It’s not that he didn’t choose who to love; Hajime didn’t have to wonder why it had to be this someone. He just somehow knew he was bound to love him all along.

_“Do you... miss him?”_

Hajime grabs for his phone and starts dialing.

 

 

**

 

 

_“Yeah. Always.”_

 

 

**

 

 

_“Hey, Tooru…”_

Oikawa lies on his childhood bedroom, eyes blank on the ceiling as he holds his phone to his ears. In fifteen minutes, he ought to meet Iwaizumi again, and for the first time, it’s the unwillingness that makes him don’t want to get up and go out. The kiss from last night still lingers on his mouth and he wonders how things would have turned out if he hadn’t asked at all.

 _“I know it’s 3 AM but I just came by... to say—”_ A pause. _“I came by to check on you. I sure hope you’re not up working on your next novel, or some poem you randomly thought of despite—despite your non-stop insistence of how 3 AM thoughts are helpful to your state of writing ability.”_ Oikawa’s void expression melts into a soft one as he hears a chuckle he knows by heart from the other end of the line. _“I’m on my couch right now and babbling nonsense and if ever things get odd as I speak, feel free to never mention it in the morning.”_

 _“Well.”_ Another pause. _“I just wanted to say, I miss you. At this second, I really miss you that I want to see you but because you’re a sleep-deprived idiot, I can’t afford to wake you up.”_

Oikawa’s inclined to his bed and rather feels lightheaded and his heart float down to his stomach. He tries getting up, falters on his movements until he’s then sitting on the edge. Listening to Iwaizumi’s static-filled call is a little frustrating and he’s not entirely sure if it’s where his frustration is stemming from. He presses his thumb on to full volume.

_“It’s crazy. It’s crazy because I just saw you not more than 12 hours ago. And it’s crazy because I know it’s been five years, and I thought things would change because we’ve never been best friends for five years. No ‘how-have-you-been’s for less than that, but still you—you came back and not one thing did even with how much you endured because of me. Everything I felt before, I still feel the same, and that makes me miss you so, so much more, Tooru. I thought I was never going to see you again—but I hung on to our promise... when we were still young? Remember? You told me ‘we are always going to find each other, Iwa-chan’, and even if I thought I had lost you forever, that made me believe.”_

Something stings at the backs of Oikawa’s eyes. Everything around him is hazy and unfocused now and he almost stumbles his way down the stairs if not for how hard he’s gripping on the banister. He is way past being self-conscious that he can no longer hold the face he makes—he doesn’t feel the first drop of something hot and wet tip out to his cheek.

Despite the static, despite Iwaizumi’s shaken voice on the other side, the next series of words he hears painfully feels like home and it rests easy on his own tongue. He ponders it over so patiently and becomes a mess of sobs on the last runs of his porch.

_“I always ask myself, ‘just how long do I have to wait’? But when I saw you right outside the Memorial Hall, for the first time in five years, I felt this old heavy weight lift off of me I was afraid I was dreaming or—or I was going to float away from you.” A chuckle. “But I realized I—I don’t have to wait, I don’t have to pretend that us growing apart is a part of us growing up… or tell myself the same old things I did for the past five years. I don’t have to do those.”_

“Tooru.”

He whips his head at the sound from behind, ever hopeful, ever perpetually wondering, just as he hears the last seconds of Iwaizumi’s fourth voicemail.

_“Because you're always, always going to be there.”_

“Whether I may be too late,” Iwaizumi starts, taking steps forward and stopping a foot away from him. “I love you. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”

Oikawa emits a wet chuckle when he hears it, face scrunching as he tries to hold his cries in, because although it made his heart at ease and made loads lightweight, there’s nothing beating the overwhelmness that follows it.

“I love you. So, _so_ much. And I don’t know what kept me held back,” he exhales, voice quivering and Oikawa is almost taken aback how Iwaizumi tears up as well. “I don’t know why I didn’t take the chances when you were still around. I wanted to tell you that, I’ve always wanted to do that, but I don’t know why I was so scared when it's only you.

“There wasn’t a day where I wasn’t hoping you’d knock at my door, because every time I woke up I would wonder,  _is he gonna come home today_? And when I saw you there, for the first time in such a long time, I thought,  _it's finally you_. It has always been you,” Iwaizumi chuckles, the relief finally seeping into his face as he takes a step forward. Even up to this day, Oikawa figures out he will still always be unable to keep up with Iwaizumi Hajime’s whims.

“And now that I have you here, what should I ask you, Tooru? Will you go out with me?  _Will you marry me?_ ” Oikawa’s heart leaps up to his throat and he almost staggers on his own knees. “All I want is to spend the rest of my life with you so we’ll never have to feel what we felt in those 5 years again… all those longing, those waiting games. I want to be happy with you, and I hope, if I am not wrong, you still have the same heart.”

 _Do you not know me well?_ Oikawa smiles softly against his hazy vision. He tries not to cry too much, but it feels like letting out a decade’s worth of everything, as if writing on thousands of papers isn’t enough.

“I’ll always have the same heart, so I will. Go out with you, marry you. Spend the rest of my life with you. Be happy with you. I will.” He nods as Iwaizumi exhales and reaches out to brush his tears off. “I’ll have you.”

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 507 }_

_Maybe the common denominator for Hajime and Tooru is that they'll always be together._

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa wakes up to the dream of spring sunset, of ivory pants on equally white sand, of sea-soaked feet, and of warm hands gripping his own. Eyes bleary, he blinks the sleepiness out of those and squints at Iwaizumi’s digital clock on his bedside table.

03:21, it reads.

Iwaizumi’s bedside table. He’s in Iwaizumi’s house. In _their_ childhood room.

He feels his stomach go on somersaults as he presses his bare back to a warm bare chest, on a strong arm around his waist, and the remembrance of a sweet episode just a few hours ago. Much to his own embarrassment, he’s only ever dreamed of this and realizing that it's happened almost feels surreal to him.

He remembers he’s not checked his phone for the whole day due to some _important activities_ happening or if not for how much he's forgotten about it. He knows now is not the reasonable time to respond to emails but he reaches for his phone anyway.

Except he can’t. Iwaizumi has his fingers intertwined to his.

Oikawa tries hard not to smile too much— _because nobody does at 3 AM in the morning—_ and it almost physically pains him. Untangling his fingers from Iwaizumi’s, he grabs his phone, has to pause and shut his eyes from the blinding light that is his screen, and sets the brightness down. He listlessly scrolls through a worth a day’s number of notifications and notices an odd thing he somehow forgot about at the bottom of the screen.

A missed voicemail from _Iwa-chan_ , one of yesterday morning’s, timed 3:25 AM.

Choosing to press the last notification, he tosses and turns until he acquires his desired position that is to squash his face into Iwaizumi’s chest. Just when the voicemail starts in a stagnant silence, he pauses his squirming for a moment and admires how painful it is looking at him when asleep. The view is too vivid he almost considers thinking of how he will wake up from a dream and to nothing but coldness by his side. It’s when he feels warm arms unconsciously tighten around him, _just enough assurance_ , that only a second takes until those thoughts drift away.

There’s still a silent static going on and it blends into the sound of Iwaizumi’s heartbeat. Oikawa assumes it’s only a null call, or a butt dial, and is about to turn it off when he hears faint breathing in the background along with those words he has always yearned to hear.

 _“I love you, Tooru,”_ says Iwaizumi’s fifth and last voicemail. _“I think I always have.”_

Such words are enough to make his heart twinge that he feels himself weakening and his breath hitching audibly. With distraction, he unmindfully drops his phone to embrace him around his torso. The movement alone causes Iwaizumi to still and give a garbled mumble, and his palm unconsciously glides down Oikawa’s spine. The shiver doesn’t come; he welcomes its lingering warmth instead.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi mumbles sleepily against his temple with his hand finding its way to his hip. He lifts his head in a way of glancing at the clock, and then buries it back down. “What are you being so squirmy about, it's 3:25.”

“I love you.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes appear disconcerted for a second as if getting caught off-guard by the sudden outburst of verbal affection, but regardless of that, he gives him a sleepy smile and embraces him a little tighter—he’s aware there’s almost no breathing space left for them, but then again, they’ve always shared the same air.

“Is that why you woke up? Were you scared?” he whispers to Oikawa, gently brushing his hair. _That any of this isn't real?_

Oikawa can’t look at him, because he can’t deny the speculation is correct. He’s scared, because he doesn't think he has the whole will to go back to square one, into building up his heart and trying again.

Iwaizumi gazes at him, and the way he does makes something hurt somewhere. He looks at him as if he’s trying to take everything into memory, but Oikawa also does the same. He figures _that_ _something_ might have been the dropping of his heart when he sees Iwaizumi shed a few tears.

He softens and doesn’t panic. His thumb just swabs along his cheeks quietly, face inching to his closer until their noses are in contact.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I was scared, too,” Iwaizumi admits. “That you hadn’t come home at all.”

Oikawa doesn’t even notice he’s doing the same until he’s sniffing himself. _But I always come home to you_ , he means to say, _I came home for you_ , but Iwaizumi understands it.

“I never really thought that... that this day would come. It’s a bizarre feeling to me. Because I always waited until I got used to waiting.”

“I won’t make you wait anymore.” Iwaizumi licks his lips, and before Oikawa could distinguish the behavior, he briefly reaches for his drawer and digs for something.

 _Indeed_ , Iwaizumi Hajime and his whims. Instead of kneeling the traditional way, here he is laying down with him while he asks for his hand.

“Marry me.”

Oikawa’s pupil’s waver as he eyes the glinting silver band before him. There are a lot of things to ask the heavens, about his destiny on the work, but he saves all those until he’s able to carefully absorb everything in.

“Yeah,” he tells him either way, despite the pause, and becomes a little out of breath when the ring perfectly slips on his finger. They share a kiss after that, and Oikawa will always tuck the memory in his head, along with all other different ones, how Iwaizumi sweetly presses him into the bed. “Iwa-chan, it’s kinda funny, you know…”

“What’s funny?”

“Who would have thought people we’re talking about getting married a few days ago, and all of a sudden, I’m engaged.”

“It wasn’t a sudden decision…” Iwaizumi murmurs, flushing against him.

Oikawa colors. “Oh.”

“But well, we’re here now, aren’t we?” Iwaizumi gazes at him with pure affection and Oikawa thinks he might melt of how he so tenderly kisses his forehead. “Should we snap the guys a photo?”

“In the morning, and while we make breakfast, we watch them scream at each other.”

“If you say so.” Iwaizumi smiles, rolling his eyes as he scoops him into his arms. “You alright?”

“Mm,” he drones and nods, forehead scraping gently on the skin of Iwaizumi’s chin. They know there are no words needed for that. With him by his side, Oikawa is always more than alright, always the same way he has been since Iwaizumi found him alone under his backyard’s camphor tree two decades ago.

 _I love you,_ comes that whisper to his ear and he rests his head on the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck where he kisses him there—on his collar, on his chest where his heart resides and beats for him alone.

He tastes like home.

 

 

**

 

 

Iwaizumi Hajime: [photo]

Hanamaki Takahiro: what

Matsukawa Issei: whose hand is that

Iwaizumi Hajime: [photo]

Matsukawa Issei: ???

Matsukawa Issei: what

Hanamaki Takahiro: ??????????????????!?!??!!!?!?

Hanamaki Takahiro: FUCKASFJDKUDIWUIFHHWOWO

 

 

**

 

 

_{ Excerpt 508 }_

_I rest after a mile’s walk._

 

 

**

 

 

Oikawa is at the precipice of 30 when he realizes why it’s easy to remember the many episodes of his youth. Despite the years that came and passed, the things that made his life worthwhile will always remain fresh and vivid in his head, and like the person that he is, he likes to recall them every once in a while.

He looks at the bunch of gladiolus to his left and the minuscule version of the framed _Strong in the Rain_ beside it and understands what keeps him heedful of the past. Sugawara waves at him goodbye as everyone calls it a day but he remains alone in the office with his monitor the only source of light. Even now, as he faces his computer, he’s reminded of the times when he used to sit and write his feelings down with nothing but his unsure ending. He glances down and takes a sight of the sharp glint of his gold band; it makes him smile, and so, he decides it is time for him to go home as well.

“Hey,” someone calls out the moment he comes out of his office. Oikawa looks up, bouquet in hand, and snorts when he sees who it is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you single? Married?”

Iwaizumi stands right there, body leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, and carries too much confidence on his shoulders.

“No, I’m not single. I’m a married man.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, sauntering towards him with lighter gaits. “I’m still taking you away from your husband.”

“Don’t play with yourself, mister,” Oikawa deadpans and as he meets him halfway, he instantly jumps into his arms way too enthusiastically. Iwaizumi catches him steady and effortless and they both share a short kiss. “What’s with you constantly bringing me flowers, huh?” He pulls away to examine the bouquet;  _gladiolus for faithfulness, integrity, and persistence_. “I don’t have the whole house to keep all these.”

“Why? Am I not allowed to woo my husband?”

“What’s more to persist, Hajime?” Oikawa grumbles as he flushes from head to toe. “We’re married. You’re stuck with me until we die.”

“We gotta cosplay like teenagers sometimes because we’re both getting old.” He rolls his eyes and says it like it’s a trend.

“We’re twenty-nine.”

“Yeah, but we’re _twenty-nine_.”

Oikawa huffs and laces his finger’s with Iwaizumi’s as they walk to the parking area. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve rubbed off myself on you,” he nags. The sunset is bright and lovely on the last days of spring and he marvels just how the season is perfect for a day like this. “Where to on this beautiful day?”

“Volunteer and then dinner.” Iwaizumi opens the car door for him and he mumbles a quiet thank you.

“Did Mattsun need some help?”

“No, but I called him beforehand.”

“That’s nice. Will you be treating me?” Oikawa shoots him a childlike smile. Iwaizumi frowns at it.

“ _Of course_.”

“Ah,” Oikawa lilts, leaning back on his seat. “The perks of married life.”

“I’ve been doing this since middle school, shut up.”

“Iwa-chan, don’t be so grumpy.” Oikawa lets him finish backing the car up before he reaches over to peck his cheek. “The more you’re getting old, the grumpier you are!” When Iwaizumi doesn’t respond and goes on with that perpetual sulk on his face, Oikawa chuckles. “Iwa-chan, do you know why I believe in aliens?”

“No.”

“Ask me why.”

Iwaizumi sighs as he impassively continues to drive. “Why.”

“Otherwise,” he drags on, and the suspense actually catches Iwaizumi. “…it would be a waste of space.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

 

“Tooru.”

“Hm?”

“Didn’t you send me a letter before you left Australia?”

“Yes, I did?”

“Ah.” Iwaizumi hums, pulling over a parking slot. “It came today.”

“Huh?”

“Your _letter_ ,” he emphasizes. “It came today, baby.”

“Huh? I sent it years ago, though?” Oikawa chuckles incredulously, racking his brain as he tries to remember what he had exactly written in there. He does remember sending one, but the memory of the content he put is a little vague for him.

“Remember that auntie that makes good _agedashi tofu_ in college?” Oikawa slowly nods, able to recognize the old acquaintance. “I met her last week at Lawson in Hachioji and told me about it. Apparently, she had been the one to receive it but I already moved out, so she asked for my current address so she can send it to me properly.”

Oikawa shudders. “Wow, I have goosebumps on my skin all of a sudden.”

Iwaizumi snickers. “Right?”

“Have you read it?”

Iwaizumi hums. “I did briefly go home during my break to find it delivered but haven’t had the chance to.”

Oikawa cringes. “I might have put some disgusting sad shit in there, so please read it alone.”

“You’ve told me worse.” Iwaizumi unlocks the car open but before they both could go out, Oikawa stops him.

“Iwa-chan, give me a kiss.”

Like the good man that he is, he immediately obliges to his husband’s orders and kisses him without a word. “Let’s go.”

There are fights that are unavoidable for a couple, but most of the time, Iwaizumi treats Oikawa as if he’s still wooing him—bringing him his favorite flowers on random days, pulling his chair out during dines in, or even opening the doors for him. Somehow, one can say that he’s trying to make up with those years he wasn’t there, but Oikawa begs to differ and doesn’t once think of his lack.

“So.” Oikawa paces animatedly as they trudge the friendly hallways, linking his arms with Iwaizumi. “What’s the plan for this weekend?”

“Overnight at Makki and Mattsun’s.”

“I really think we should all just rent a house together if it’s always going to be like this. Speaking of…” he trails off as he spots the duo not far away, seeming like they both saw them beforehand.

“Good timing. Hajime, is it alright if I put you in room C?” Matsukawa asks him hesitantly, face clear of concern. “The kids are hella rowdy today. Kuroo came by and gave them toys, so things turned apeshit.”

“Don’t curse in a day care facility!” Hanamaki shushes him.

“Leave it to me,” Iwaizumi says and through the years he’s been cheeky like this, Oikawa’s heart still flutters.

“Room A and B are currently short on supervision, so Oikawa, if you could…”

“I’ll be in room A, then!”

“Ah, good,” Hanamaki sighs. “There’s a kid that’s been sulking the entire afternoon, so I expect you to do a good job.”

“I’m good with sulky kids,” he counters, sounding a little boastful. “Given that I’ve been dealing with Iwa-chan ever since I was-”

Iwaizumi smacks his ass and he yelps. It makes the female employees to turn to and giggle at them.

Matsukawa watches them with amusement and comments, “Iwaizumi, you shouldn’t do an activity that’s outside of bed, you know?”

“Will you please shut up?”Hanamaki hisses and then everyone hears a bunch of screaming from the notorious Room C. “Adult conversations are prohibited in this vicinity. Anyway, Iwaizumi…”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” Iwaizumi cringes and hurriedly heads towards his duty. Oikawa laughs how the moment he enters there, everyone immediately becomes quiet at his arrival before they all erupt into surprised cheers.

“Iwa-chan is so cute.”

“Please talk about him when you’re at home.”

“Makki you’re so bitter everyday?”

“He’s being grumpy because I ate the last share of his KFC,” Matsukawa explains, with the grand hand gestures to boot as if Hanamaki is nonexistent at all.

Oikawa shrugs. “Well, I would be too, honestly speaking.”

 

Undeniably, Oikawa sees the _sulky kid_ in Room A, all alone in a the far left corner while the rest huddled in different circles. He takes note of the bright orange hair and as he approaches the kid with careful steps, he realizes that while everyone has three to four toys in hand, he only has one thing he’s holding. Oikawa almost knocks himself on his ass upon seeing a stag beetle on the kid’s hand.

“Hello?”

The kid looks up in astonishment, as if he can’t believe there’s someone calling out to him. Oikawa does feel bad, but those chubby cheeks make up for it.

“Huh? Why are you here?” He asks Oikawa and Oikawa almost laughs.

“I came to play with you.”

“Me? You wanna play?” He looks around in confusion before, thrusting the bug towards him. “You like it, too?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he nervously laughs and prays that it won’t fly and stick to his face, because if he’s being frank, he would have flown a hundred meter radius away from it. Oikawa doesn’t dislike bugs, he _loathes_ them.

“Hmm… the other kids don’t like playing with me because I’m weird.”

“How is it so?” he asks him patiently.

“Because I like these.”

“Eh, it’s not weird,” he reasons softly and crouches before him. “I knew a friend who liked to collect bugs, too, but I still liked him.”

“Really?” The kid marvels and then deflates like a balloon. “I’m jealous.”

Oikawa softens and inches towards him. “What’s your name?”

“Haruki,” he murmurs. “ _Sato Haruki_.”

“Oh? It suits the season.” He tries cheering up but it barely has any effect. “Well, Haruki-chan, One day, someone will knock at your door and embrace the weirdness out of you! And then you think, _being weird is cool, isn’t it?_ When I was your age, the other kids thought I was strange because I only liked and talked about aliens.” He laughs at the recollection, but at the same time, a pensive smile makes way to his face. “But this weirdness of mine brought me to a very special blessing.”

“…blessing?”

“Fate brought me a really good friend. And because of that, for the record, he's still my friend until now.”

“That’s awesome! Does he like aliens, too?”

“He doesn’t.” At this Haruki’s face visibly falls but Oikawa proceeds with a chuckle. “But I figured out he just genuinely likes me. At some point, we’re all going to have a friend like that, and I thought he was super rare. So, I did what’s best.”

“What did you do, then?”

He glances up only to coincidentally spot Iwaizumi in Room C. He’s rolling on the play mat with the other kids and the sight makes him a little too boisterous and messy for someone who’s almost thirty. Oikawa thinks of their juvenility and realizes Iwaizumi Hajime, for someone who’s wiser for his age, has always had a young heart.

At this, he smiles and tells the kid, “I married him.”

 

 

**

 

 

_June 10, 20xx_

_I’m coming home._

 

 

**

 

 

“It’s seriously funny that we’re still doing this until now,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath as he nails the tent peg deep into the soil. Oikawa can notice him a little out of breath and remembers that they’re not the same rowdy youngsters anymore.

Despite the slight physical toll, their young spirits still remain as similar as ever, hence organizing of camping trips and weekend sleepovers are brought up more often than not.

“We’re hip uncles that teenagers can’t reach.”

Oikawa hums. “Is this one of the perks of married life or of not having kids?”

“It’s the perk of having childish friends like all of you,” Hanamaki deadpans.

“Why’s Makki and Iwa-chan switching personalities?” Oikawa wonders with feigned offense. “Mattsun, did you take his KFC again?”

“He would not be here if I did.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Why not?”

“He’d be in jail for domestic violence.”

Everyone aside from Hanamaki bursts out in laughter.

“I can’t believe you’d think of me like that!”

“You angry dropkicked me that night!” Matsukawa counteracts.

“Too much information!” Oikawa yells.

Iwaizumi sighs, nailing the last piece of peg with a slam. “Please keep quiet. We’re almost thirty and people are sleeping.”

“Why does he speak like a grandpa?”

“That’s just Iwa-chan,” Oikawa dismisses them with a flick of his wrist. “He’s always years ahead of us.”

“Baby, come here.”

Hanamaki gags. “What’s with that ridiculous pet name, please.”

“Jealousy is not allowed in this area!” Oikawa sticks his tongue out and saunters towards Iwaizumi with a rather suspicious look. “What?”

“Come here.” Iwaizumi laughs, all handsome and calm, and motions him down over to crouch. When he doesn’t budge, he pulls him down until he lands with his ass on the ground.

“Iwa-chan I’m old! I might not recover my bones back to normal.”

“Quit talking like you’re dying,” he snorts and tugs him closer. “Do me a favor and close your eyes.”

“I don’t trust you!”

Iwaizumi wheezes. “I’m your husband!”

“…fine.”

He feels a damp press on his cheek before Iwaizumi tells him, “Alright, you can open them now.”

Oikawa should have expected it, but the shock he feels outdoes his anger that when Iwaizumi shows him a stag beetle, he retaliates with a sharp yelp.

“Fucking seriously—Hajime!”

“You should have seen your face.”

“Let’s divorce.”

“Excuse me, are you single?” Iwaizumi questions smoothly. “Let’s get married.”

“This is just like watching a cheap romcom,” Matsukawa comments at the side and Hanamaki sighs.

“Please, everyone. Let’s gather. The sparklers are ready now.”

“Are we a bunch of twelve year olds?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously, hauling Oikawa up with him as they head towards the edge of hill. There lounges a picnic blanket they got Hanamaki and Matsukawa for their wedding and Oikawa figures out how useful the thing is.

“Yes, but classy,” Matsukawa raises his champagne glass. “And with drinking permits.”

“To our two friends who are on their fifth anniversary… or rather, twentieth,” Hanamaki mumbles the last bit as the four of them stand on top of Sendai with a glass of champagne on hand. “Cheers!”

“This is embarrassing but, cheers~” Iwaizumi clinks his glass with them, face donned with a clear flush. He turns to Oikawa with a soft smile (something pleasant hurts somewhere) and without any words, leans in to kiss him.

Oikawa melts in his arms like honey as he kisses him back; fireworks go off in his head like it’s not the thousandth time they kissed, and they both blatantly ignore the jeers thrown in the background.

“Get a room, please.”

“Get babies.”

 

Oikawa is at the precipice of 30 when he realizes that the best things in life shouldn’t be rushed upon, because it does take time, days, and patience to unveil one’s fate. He’s always heard it everywhere, that _everything that's meant to happen happens with the work of nature_ , and if he was once skeptical about it, he believes it now.

 As he sits there with the neighborhood night lights overviewing, a sparkler in hand and sparklers around his bound to be ephemeral but luminous at their best, he glances at his friends and then at Iwaizumi, and muses about his endings in parallel worlds. He takes a long glimpse at Iwaizumi’s gold ring and then his own and prays for nothing but fair stories and the best finales.

Looking back to the past decade or two, it had been a mix of both overwhelming wholesomeness and pleasant longing. It does sometimes occur to him, that if time could turn him back to when he’s seventeen, he realizes he wouldn’t dare change anything. There had been a couple of mishaps by hasty actions from a learning teenager, but there also occurred realizations and making up. Upon this, he thinks that regardless of anything, _those times_ , _those days_ that brought him to where he is…

They were all worth it.

 

 

**

 

 

End.

 

 

**

 

 

 _“Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.”_ — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually, i have multiple deadlines to this monster fic: iwaoi day (4/1), iwaoi week (may), oikawa's bday (7/20), christmas (12/25), and finally before january ends lol. i feel like a huge weight is finally taken off of me and it's sort of a way to cross out a primary goal in 2018 (besides graduating!).
> 
> so, if you ever reached up to the end notes, thank you! everyone's feedback and comments gave/give me a lot of strength. you should tell me your favourite bit! until then... i hope to see you in my next work. this one's for everyone.
> 
> p.s. if you have smtg to say or request or just anything, i'm at [sund0wns](https://sund0wns.tumblr.com/)!


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